France is that way?
by Harry Lime
Summary: Spike & Harmony meet for the first time and give the Watchers Council a much needed kick in its complacency.
1. Who watches the Watchers?

Set during the summer between Graduation Day II and The Freshman.

****

France is that way?

Part I

__

Buffy : And you with Harmony. What'd you do? Loose a bet?

Harmony : Hey.

Spike : Actually, how we met. It's a funny story.

(In the Harsh Light of Day).

The Skunk & Ferret Pub in Camden, North London, attracted a certain sort of clientele. By and large its patrons were every bit as grubby & unappealing as the décor and the beer, and every bit as dangerous as the food. 

Above all the _regulars_ didn't like strangers. The place was like an old fashioned gentleman's club, you were introduced to the regulars by an existing customer, usually in connection with some kind of shady dealings or simply because the new guy (no women allowed) was family. It wasn't really the sort of place you stopped off for a quick pint on your way to somewhere else, if you did you quickly learnt (once you came round, stripped naked and considerably poorer than when you went in) not to do it again.

Word quickly gets around and those who lived nearby knew never to go in unless by express invitation. These days the only ones who went in who weren't regulars were American tourists, who'd taken a wrong, very wrong, as it would soon become apparent, turning.

Danny McRae, a.k.a. Snide to his few friends, was baffled. He'd spent the last half-hour watching the stranger in total fascination. The man had swaggered in, already three sheets to the wind and looking like a refugee from the late 70's, and loudly ordered a bottle of scotch with the words 'Oi you, bottle of firewater pronto!' and had slapped a stained twenty pound note on the counter.

The other six drinkers in the place spluttered into their pints at the voice and gawped at the newcomer, who returned their stares and politely asked 'What the fuck are you tossers lookin' at?'

As one the group started to rise, McRae quickly motioned that they should sit down. It was not out of any concern for the suicidal bugger but more for the thick wad of notes the peroxide blonde man had peeled the twenty-pound note off. He'd get this one good and drunk before he and 'the regulars' helped themselves to the cash, and break the cheeky bastard's legs of course.

'Here you go sir,' he smarmed, putting an empty glass and a bottle of his cheapest whisky on the counter. 'You want any ice with that?'

The man just flicked the note at him, snatched the bottle and glass and went over to a table in the far corner and poured himself a generous measure. He downed it in one go and sloshed out another.

__

Maybe one of his arms needed breaking as well, and I'll have that nice leather coat too.

That had been half an hour ago and the berk was face down on the table babbling about someone called Dru.

McRae checked his watch, 11pm - closing time, he made his way round the bar and locked the front door. The other six hadn't moved, they where all watching the stranger. As soon as McRae finished locking up they left their drinks and followed him over to the intended victim. The man seemed unconscious.

Danny gave the table a hefty kick. 'Scuse me.'

'Fuk of,' gurgled the man.

Another kick. 'Scuse me pal, you from round here?'

'Yup. Born on Caledonian Road, always used to come round here.'

Danny looked back at his companions and grinned. 'How long ago was that,' he said pleasantly.

'Long time 'go,' mumbled the drunk.

'Didn't think I'd seen you before. Well, 'cept on the cover of a Sex Pistols album.'

The nameless thugs chuckled.

Danny leaned down until his face was next to the man's head. 'Thing is, we don't like flash gits coming round here being abusive and flashing money like they own the bloody place. Puts people off, and the language. There's little kiddies living down this road you know.'

'Fuck off.'

Danny picked up the empty bottle of scotch and smashed it over the drunks' head. The man yelled and fell to the floor, Danny followed up with a rib-shattering kick to his side. 'Coat and wallet,' he spat, 'and do something with your bleeding hair, Sid Vicious died years ago.'

He went in for another kick and suddenly the man's hand shot out grabbed his ankle, next thing Danny knew he was somersaulting backwards and landed on his friends.

The man got to his feet and he didn't seem so drunk. He looked down at the fallen seven and smiled at their look of horror at the ridges that had grown on his forehead.

William the Bloody grinned and displayed his fangs, 'Dying is one of the many things Sid and I have in common.'

Quinten Travers looked up from the report he'd been given five minutes earlier. 'Well,' he sighed, 'this not good.'

At being addressed, Detective Inspector Chapman stood vaguely to attention. 'No sir. Thought you ought to know, bit rare one them doing something so brazen in London.'

The Senior Watcher nodded thoughtfully. It had been a time-honoured practice of the Watchers Council to recruit and train local policemen throughout the world to their cause. Police Watchers provided a useful source of local knowledge as well as a swift warning system of demonic activity and a handy tool to steer the subsequent investigation in the wrong direction while the Council took the 'necessary' action. 

However, it was very unusual to have rely on this resource in London. London was not only the capital of England it was the headquarters of a global society of sorcerers & assassins dedicated to eradicating all forms of hostile demonic life and therefore the safest city in the world in terms of the occult. The presence of the Watchers Council was an even better deterrent than a Slayer; there weren't many creatures foolhardy enough to foul their backyard.

Until now it seemed.

'Do we have any witnesses?' Travers asked the DI.

'Yes sir, we received an anonymous call from someone who heard a disturbance in the Skunk & Ferret - '

'You mean the screaming.'

'Quite. We'll never know who made the call, people don't like to draw attention to themselves where that pub is concerned, not that that'll be a problem anymore.'

'But the witness…'

'American tourist taking a taxi ride to the Tube station sir, the driver was taking him via a 'shortcut.' The yank says he saw some 'disfigured skinny blonde man in a long black coat' running down the street. The driver's playing deaf and dumb though, he thinks its some gang thing and doesn't want to get involved.'

'Good, lets make sure that's what the press think as well,' said Travers.

'Going to be difficult sir, those men in the Skunk were all of the large, tattooed and violent variety and they all had their hearts torn out and three were decapitated. Whether the press thinks its gang related or not there's going to be mass panic, this is London not Los Angeles.'

Travers shrugged. 'That can't be helped. But we can make sure whoever did this doesn't do it again, can't we?'

'Absolutely sir.'

'Do we know who did it?'

Chapman swallowed, he'd been hoping to avoid that one. 'Well, erm. I have my suspicions.'

'Enlighten me.'

'Well, baring in mind the American's description and the fact the vampire was singing 'God Save the Queen' by the Sex Pistols. And, well we've been hearing rumours and well…we think it's Spike.'

Travers jaw dropped. 'William the Bloody! In London!'

'Yes sir, sorry.'

The Watcher leaned back in his chair and groaned. 'We heard he was in Brazil.'

'He had been sir but given his involvement with the current Slayer I decided to check with our ex-man in Sunnydale.'

'Oh, yes,' said Travers without much enthusiasm. 'Wyndham-Price. We fired him.'

'Right, but I tracked him down - seems he's in Missouri at the moment trying to take out a ninety year old woman who's been practicing as a Necromancer without a license. Anyway, Price said that apparently Spike showed up just before he arrived to replace Rupert Giles as the local Watcher.'

'And he was going to inform us of this when?'

'Well, he wasn't actually present at the time and I think he's a bit upset that you fired him. Maybe he forgot to mention it, maybe he kept quiet out of spite. Spike was only there for 24 hours, came in, did a bit of mayhem, and left. Seems his lover Drusilla has left him and he's trying to track her down.'

'Oh god, she's not here as well is she?'

'Now Toby,' Spike said with a grin. 'Let's have another go shall we?'

Toby squealed and tried to back away, the chains were proving a hindrance in this.

'I don't know, oh Christ I don't know I haven't seen her for days!'

Spike sighed. 'See now there you go again. You don't have any demon blood in you do you? I only ask 'cause some species can regrow limbs after they've been severed. That's the only reason I can think of why you haven't told me what I wanna hear. Let's look, you've still got one foot and eight fingers left. I'm assuming the missing parts are going to grow back.'

Toby sobbed and gave a futile yank on the chain tethering him to the wall. 'Please William, please…'

Spike looked at his watch, two hours till sunrise and the commuters would start flowing in via London Bridge Station well before that. At first he'd thought it was funny setting up in an abandoned building on Crucifix Street, bit of cheap irony and it was close to Guys Hospital which had plenty of food that couldn't run away. But he was fed up with lame snacks. He was fed up with the non-stop bustle and noise of a busy train station during the day when he was trying to sleep. He was fed up with the loneliness that only Drusilla could remove and he was seriously pissed off with the craven attitude of the vampires & demons in his hometown. All right, it had been a few decades since he'd been back to London but he couldn't remember the Watchers Council ever being _that_ scary.

'Toby I'm really going to hurt you in a second.'

Toby waved the bloody stump where his foot had been. 'What do you call this?'

With a roar, Spike picked up Toby's severed foot and shoved in the human's mouth. Then he reached down and grabbed the remaining foot with both hands and twisted.

Toby screamed and thrashed around as the vampire slowly tore off his other foot.

'Now,' said Spike in a matter-of-fact tone as Toby rolled around in a pool of his own blood, vomit, urine and excrement. 'In the last five months I have travelled from California to London via Brazil, Guatemala, Haiti, Tijuana, Mexico City, Houston, Dallas and Atlanta. Do you know how difficult that can be for a vampire? 'Specially the flying part? I had to travel in a coffin in the cargo hold all the way from Atlanta to Heathrow; _not_ too sodding comfortable let me tell you. I find Drusilla, the one person who brings something to my life other than a desire to _tear the throat out of every bastard who annoys me!_ We agree to give it another chance and within one week she's gone again.'

He knelt down and stroked Toby's hair, the human was whimpering in his own private universe. Spike couldn't tell if he was listening or not.

'Just tell me where she is Toby,' he said softly. 'It's not like she's going to hurt you is it, you're dead already. The only option is how fast you're going to die.'

'Plu-please…'

'She was staying with that river demon, Nerk, when I found her. They were very pally, you work for Nerk, you drove her around. She liked you, she wouldn't want you to suffer. Where did she go?'

'Greshor.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Greshor, she ran off with Greshor. He-he said he was going to take her to his parent's' castle in Vladivostok.'

Spike sat down, he looked as though the words had winded him. 'Greshor.'

'Please kill me.'

'Greshok.'

'William?'

Spike stood up and very quickly stamped his foot down on Toby's right knee, it went crack.

'Greshok,' he said to the howling human, 'is a fungus demon. He has mushrooms growing between his many chins. And you are telling me that my Drusilla has left me for a 400lb bit of mould.'

Spike reached into his coat and pulled out a hacksaw. 'I think we're going to have to indulge in a bit of messenger shooting. Well, slicing really.'

'A troll?' asked Travers.

'Yessir, it was the only survivor,' replied Chapman.

'And where did you find it?'

'Under Blackfriars Bridge, sir. Nerk's gaff was by Temple Station. It's close to the river and trolls always make for the nearest bridge when they're scared.'

Travers sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In this instance 'scared' could be defined as seeing a blood-splattered homicidally drunken vampire armed with molotov cocktails and a machete charge into the lobby of your hotel and split the owner down the middle.

'It took a while for us to find a translator, sir,' said Chapman. 'It was on a package holiday from Japan and didn't speak the lingo.'

'But we're sure it was Spike?'

'Absolutely. He was seen running out of the fire, killed a couple of policemen. Good lads as well so I'm told.'

'Ours?'

'No, just ordinary coppers, all the same…'

'Yes, yes of course,' Travers stood up and paced his office. Why destroy Nerk's? The river demon's establishment was an accepted no-go area for the Watchers and in exchange Nerk allowed humans, demons and vampires to reside there on the understanding that there would be no trouble. Nerk was harmless, inasmuch that he accepted the status quo in London. In every other regard he was a seven-foot spawn of Hell that could tear a bull in half. Why would Spike attack him?

Travers glared at Chapman. 'Was there anyone at Nerk's who shouldn't have been?'

The DI shrugged. 'Nerk always informed us when there was anyone 'questionable' staying there.'

'That means you don't know.'

'Well…'

Travers wandered over to the mini-bar in the corner of his office and poured himself a large brandy, he didn't offer Chapman a drink. 'You know what I think,' he said as he returned to his seat, 'I think Drusilla was staying there.'

'Drusilla?'

'Hmm, I think Spike has been looking for her. He asked Nerk if he knew where she was and Nerk lied. Spike found out about the lie and vented a bit of anger.' The Watcher downed his drink in one go. 'If she's eluded him I think we would should be prepared for his next little tantrum don't you?' 

Spike wandered through the crowded area of Covent Garden. The humans milling around the overpriced curio shops or stood gawping at the fire-eating idiots performing on unicycles had no idea how lucky they were he'd been to Nerks. Finishing off that treacherous river demon and burning his fleapit hotel to the ground had temporarily sated his need to kill, if not his rage.

It probably wasn't a good idea to moving through such a busy tourist area, neither for his temper and because the blasted Watchers Council would now be watching out for him. Still, they wouldn't try anything blatant with so many witnesses here, so many innocent people.

It was at this point that a crossbow shaft went through his left shoulder.

Roaring in agony he span round and saw three men pushing their way through the screaming crowds, one of them was trying to reload his bow as he went.

A van rumbled around a corner and a dozen men, again armed with crossbows and all wearing metal collars, poured out.

Okay, now he knew why London was a safe place for humans.

He charged through the panicking crowds, lashing out blindly. He struck out at one woman, snapping her neck in the process. He grabbed hold of the fresh corpse and swung it over his left shoulder, covering his heart. A second later two crossbow bolts imbedded themselves in the dead woman's back.

Even with the extra weight he knew he could outdistance his pursuers. He leapt onto the roof of a parked car and jumped into a group of tourists. He landed heavily on one, who screamed out something in German. Ditching his human shield, Spike took off towards a nearby-parked taxi and threw the driver out. As he climbed into the drivers' seat he saw ten Council operatives running towards him in the rear-view mirror…

'Er, and then he put the taxi into reverse and backed into them as fast it could go,' said a nervous Chapman.

'Deaths?'

Chapman looked down at his feet. 'No, he didn't really have time to build up enough speed. He waited until they were almost on top of them before he did it. He jumped out of the cab and ran off toward Charing Cross Station. Samson had both his legs broken but it's not life-threatening.'

'No, I suppose not,' said Travers. 'Although that dead woman's family and the German lad who had three ribs broken and a lung punctured because of your incompetence might not be too bothered that Samson will walk again. _WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING OF?' _

Chapman took an involuntary step back. 'I-I…'

__

'Out with it man!'

The DI took a deep breath. 'We had a clear shot at him, sir. And I felt the high profile damage he's done since arriving deserved a high profile response and you know what the common herd is like, sir. They'd find all sorts of private explanations as to what really happened, they'd never think they'd seen a vampire being 'dusted.' There's always a more rational explanation.'

Travers stared at the man, how had he ever thought this cretin was suitable for this kind of work? 'The only thing that defies a rational explanation, Inspector, is your moronic actions earlier this evening.'

'But if we'd bagged him…'

'Well you didn't and know we have two needless civilian casualties…'

'Collateral damage, sir?'

'Shut up. Two needless casualties, a lot of unwanted attention and an extremely dangerous vampire that in all probability now believes he's free to do whatever he wants. And judging from our first response, _I wouldn't blame him!'_

After his escape, Spike made his way back towards London Bridge. Idiots, rushing him at him in such a crowded area. Clearly the Watchers had been resting on their laurels for too long. This was the feared and ruthless organisation that had reduced every vampire and demon in London to quivering wrecks? Pathetic!

He rubbed his injured shoulder; the bleeding has stopped almost immediately. Another 15-20 minutes it would be like it had never happened. Then, feeding time.

As he walked over the bridge a shrill giggle drew his attention. He looked down and saw a young couple walking hand in hand along the dark and virtually deserted South Bank towards the National Theatre.

Where the hell had they gone? It had taken Spike all of three minutes to reach the point where'd he last seen them. He heard scuffling and moaning coming from a narrow sidestreet. He grinned and leant up against the wall for a quick smoke. It would be 'impolite' to disturb them mid-coitus.

Suddenly he heard the man yelp and then something flew out of the alleyway and smacked into him, it was the woman.

Tangled on the floor he had just enough time to catch sight of the man jumping over them and race off, he was holding one hand over his neck.

'You pig!' shrieked the woman in a whiny Californian accent as she struggled to get up. 'Like hurting women do you?'

Spike, still on the ground, stared at up the girls' fangs and ridged forehead. 'You're a _vampire_?' he asked incredulously.

'He hit me,' the girl sniveled. 'And I only bit him a little. I would have sired him if he'd asked.'

'You're a _vampire_?' 

'Duh! Fangs,' she said, pointing at her mouth.

Spike stood up and brushed his coat down. 'We must be getting desperate,' he muttered.

The girl looked him up and down and gave high-pitched squeal. Spike leapt back in shock and vamped out, ready for an attack. Instead the girl was just jumping up and down on the spot and started clapping her hands. 

'This is so cool,' she said, resuming her human face. 'I haven't met a single English vamp since I got here. I just love your accent.'

Spike stared at her beaming and undeniably pretty, but undeniably vacant, expression. 'Yeah, well. We like to keep a low profile, 'softly softly catchee food'. No nibbling in alleyways that has more than one way out. Look, you're a vampire sweetheart, he shouldn't have been able to throw you like that.'

The girl put her hands behind her back and gave him an even wider smile. 'I'm Harmony.'

'Huh? Oh, er William, but you can call me Spike.'

'_Spike_,' she said with a playful expression on her face. 'That's a sexy name,' she said as she took a step forward. 'It has a kind of _rigid_ quality to it.'

Spike tried to back up but the wall didn't want him to go any further. 'Er, well I've, er never had any complaints.' Something, besides the girl's brazen manner and her vacuous grin, was bothering him. 'I've seen you somewhere before haven't I?'

The girl shook her head, 'Not unless you've ever been to a crud hole called Sunnydale.'

Spike felt lightheaded. 'Sunnydale,' he said weakly. She looked newly sired as well; vamps developed a nose for that sort of thing. 'You don't know a Buffy Summers do you?'

'Oh the Slayer,' said Harmony dismissively. 'Yeah, her and her little dweebie friends and that weirdo librarian. It's creepy, someone so old that hanging out with a bunch of high school kids. I was totally her enemy at school, those clothes and her 'I'm from LA and therefore totally cool' attitude. Soooo passe! Can we can get some real fish & chips, I've never tried any before.' 

'Y'what?'

'It is so cool here,' said Harmony as she took Spike's hand and led him back toward the bridge. 'I'm just stopping over till I go to France, I've always wanted to see France. You can get a train from Waterloo Station and it takes you under the sea and into Paris, how super is that. I got a ship to Ireland, then I took a ferry to South Wales, I didn't like Wales. But London is so cool and it's not just the big red buses or Beefeaters, they all speak American here, I totally hated learning foreign languages at school. Do you think they'll speak English in France?'

Chapman sat down in his station's canteen and dug into his fried breakfast like it was his last meal (you never knew, Quentin Travers was not known as a rewarder of failure).

'Guv?' Chapman looked up and saw Detective Sergeant Cunningham standing over him. Cunningham was a solid archetypal copper, a married grandfather in his early fifties and close to retirement. He was also the only other officer in Chapman's nick that worked for the Watchers Council or was even aware of the true nature of things. 

'You heard about Covent Garden,' grumbled Chapman quietly.

'Guv.'

'Mr. Travers wasn't too impressed.'

'Well,' said Cunningham as he sat down opposite his superior officer and friend, 'Mr. Travers is a fat old twat who needs to spend a bit more time on the front line sir. Look at that mess in Sunnydale, dismissing Rupert Giles like that. Met his nan when I first joined the service, formidable old bird, her grandson is just the sort to take care of a modern slayer, specially an _American_ one.' The word American was given the same sneering inflection that might be applied to words such as 'moron' or 'imbecile.'

'Now the Slayer doesn't want anything to do with us. Come to think of it we had two Slayers and what does Travers do? Puts a prat like Wyndham Price in charge of em!'

'Yes, well,' said Chapman as he devoured an artery-clanging mouthful of fried slice, mushrooms and bacon. 'Mr. Travers word carries weight with the Council and what the Council says goes. Mr. Giles is out and I'm not far behind him, unless…'

'Unless we take care of young William.'

'Right.'

'Hm. Sir?'

'Yes?'

'Do you want that sausage?'

'Spike, oh wow. You were the one who totally crashed parent-teacher night weren't you?'

'Yup.'

'Killed two slayers?'

'Well, modesty forbids…'

'So why didn't you kill Buffy Summers?'

Spike glared at Harmony and wondered for the fiftieth time that night how she could have survived as long as she had, as a human or vampire. She'd only been made six weeks earlier, a causality of some enormous scrap between Sunnydale High's graduating class (the last it seemed) and a couple of dozen vampires led by the town's Mayor, who was undergoing some sort of demonic transformation at the time. She'd woken up a vampire and was driven by one thing, to see France! France! What was so important about bloody France? As a child of the Victorian era, Spike had _views _about the French. He had _views_ about most of the major European nations but the Frogs had a special rancorous place in his unbeating heart.

'Never liked the bloody French,' he muttered.

Like so many insults, either implied or spoken outright, the comment didn't even penetrate Harmony's dinosauresque hide. He'd had every detail of her excruciatingly drab life story within forty-five minutes of meeting her (and that included twenty minutes of sex near Tower Bridge). Since then she had wittered on endlessly about France. In a way it wasn't that surprising - she'd always wanted to visit it before her death and desires that were strong enough in life would stay with you as a vampire. But as a vampire you did find room for other needs, you had plenty of time to explore them after all. Harmony, however, was totally fixated with France. He was astonished she'd gone to the trouble of finding accommodation in London, and to be fair she'd done better than he had. He looked round at the sumptuous docklands penthouse apartment she'd acquired, it was very comfortable and had a perfect view of The Millennium Dome.

He'd gone for an abandoned lock-up near London Bridge, she'd killed a systems analyst who worked for Salamon Brothers (she was still in the fridge and tasted very nice, clearly a girl who had liked Bucks Fizz with her breakfast) and taken her flat.

Of course that was the problem, he could stay in his quarters for weeks, months maybe. She could only hold on to this place for a few days, a fortnight if she was lucky before she was discovered. If she hadn't met him, the Watchers Council would have found and dusted her within the next few days.

He wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or not.

In the plus column was the nymphomania, she was good looking, athletic and inexhaustible, and she was obviously as needy as they came. He could abuse her as much as he liked and she'd never turn on him. In the negative column was everything else about her.

He swigged the glass of twelve year old malt the flat's previous incumbent had bought and leaned back on the apartment's expensive leather sofa. 'So, before you go to France, anything you want to do in London?'

'Ooh, well I'd like to kill her boyfriend, Harry.'

'Her? The bird who use to own this gaff?'

'Yeah, the only time I met him was in a bar and that was just before I killed her. I didn't like him. He was mean.'

'The scoundrel, how was he mean?'

'He hit her in front of me, and he did it after she'd taken her smack. She couldn't have hurt him. He was just worried about his amara gem.'

Spike froze. 'I'm sorry, I thought…did you just use the word _amara_?'

'Yeah. Some jewel, it's not in France but she kept talking about it.'

'Hur-huh.' _Omigod._ 'Amara, right. The _Gem of Amara_ that was what she was talking about?'

'Oh, yeah.'

'Right, did, er, did Harry…was Harry a vampire?'

'Oh, no but he thought he could sell it. I don't know where he is; he sort of screamed and ran away when I ripped his girlfriends' throat out last Friday.'

__

Calm, calm, thought Spike. 'Where can I find Harry?'

Harmony shrugged. 'Somewhere in the West End, he's a cop. His name's Harry Chapman…'

Chapman entered his bedroom, slumped down on the bed and buried his face in both hands. What an unbelievably miserable, pointless, exhausting shitty day it had been. Travers was on his case over the Covent Garden debacle, his Chief Inspector was demanding results over the mayhem in Covent Garden that he had instigated (he'd have to find a suitable crack-head to blame it on). And to top it off, no one at the Council was terribly impressed over the fact that a dozen or so experienced operatives now had to be transferred out of London, and in all probability the UK, due to the fact that they had been caught on a dozen security cameras rampaging through Central London firing crossbows in front of hundreds of witnesses. 

It was times like this he wished he more that Cunningham's shoulder to cry on but he lived a solitary existence. His ten years with the Watchers Council had taught him that personal relationships in the vampire slaying trade were a painful distraction. He'd seen too many good people emotionally destroyed over the loss of a loved one to fall into the same trap. Even before he'd joined up to fight the good fight he decided that his career in the force came first and he didn't need to be worrying about a wife and kids as he did his job.

He had needs obviously and carried on a string of loose affairs with, well any woman with a pulse if he was strictly honest. Don't get too attached was his maxim, in and out ASAP and thank you very much.

Even that lifestyle wasn't without risk. He'd nearly soiled himself when that idiot American girl had turned out to be a vampire and killed Lucy last Friday. He turned up half an hour late and found her chatting to some tourist, and Lucy had been high as 747. He'd warned her about that junk, then she got lippy and it turned out she had actually been talking to the vampire about the gem he was looking for. She'd actually used the word _Amara_. He shouldn't have hit her and it was his own fault for mentioning it to Lucy in the first place, if she hadn't found his file on Sunnydale and the gem he'd never have needed to spin some yarn about attending a jewelry auction. 

He'd never hit a woman before and was thoroughly ashamed as soon as he'd done it. Then the American girl got aggressive and started on about not hitting women and she _vamped out_. At that point Lucy started screaming and with a cry of 'Shut up, I'm trying to help you,' the vampire snapped Lucy's neck.

He had no weapons on him and no alternative but to run so he pushed the vampire over when it attacked Lucy and ran for all he was worth. Several large vodkas and three heart attacks later he realised the enormity of what had just happened. The vampire knew that he knew about the Gem Amara, more than that it knew that he knew where it was.

He was praying that the girl was too stupid to know what the gem meant, not an unreasonable assumption, but he had to move quickly. He had only spent five minutes in the company of the girl to know that she chattered on and on about whatever was in her head at the time, he couldn't risk her mentioning it to some demon or vampire smart enough to understand its significance. 

He needed to get to California immediately. But how? Now that the Slayer was refusing to heed Council orders what excuse did he have for going to Sunnydale?

It had been pure luck that he stumbled upon the Gem's location. Six months previously he'd lead a team of Watchers in cleaning out a nest of vampires that had been occupying a house in Pitsea in Essex. The vampires had put up a fight, obviously, but with nowhere to run, the raid took place at midday, it had just been a matter of time. All in all it had been a great success; the Watchers suffered no major casualties and took only a few minor injuries. Best of all they managed to save three children who were being held in cages.

He'd been making one last sweep of the premises when he noticed the laptop computer. It was a strange thing for a vampire to have, with few exceptions they had no real use for technology. Clearly one of the dead vamps was one of these exceptions. Curious, he took the laptop and a pile of notes that the vamp had been making and a musty old book it had been working from.

He learnt from one of his men that the vampire who owned the computer put up the fiercest struggle and when it was cornered it tried to smash the laptop. What was it so desperate to hide?

Fortunately, in a way, he didn't need to report the laptop to the Council - all property removed from a nest had to be turned over, examined and catalogued (a regulation strictly enforced). The other six members of his team were all killed two days later when a drunk driver ploughed into the van they were travelling in.

He decided to check his find before giving it to the Council and almost fell off his chair when he saw that the vampire had discovered the whereabouts of its Holy Grail, a gem that would render its vampire bearer invulnerable - even allowing it to stand in direct sunlight.

He knew the story of course, all Council employees did. Even after thousands of years of bloodshed and depravity the Amara Crusade stood out as one the basest episodes in vampire history. 

In the 10th century, hundreds of vampire clans had travelled the known world searching for the Gem and essentially raped the life out of any area they came into contact with. Entire communities were consumed or destroyed as the questing vampires tore the world apart looking for their prize. Despite the obscene death rate the Crusade also served to drastically reduce the vampire population. Only one could wear the gem, and every vampire knew that it was going to be his. There were several documented cases of clans killing each other when they thought they had found the gem and then the last one standing would take the false bauble and charge headlong into the light or at an enemy without bothering to worry about defending itself.

The crusaders went almost everywhere, it was even rumoured that they got as far as Australia. They definitely reached the New World because that was where the gem was. Chapman spent several weeks going through the dead vampires' notes and found that it had been working from the journal of a crusading Finnish vamp called Lif. Lif had learnt of the gem's location and made a note of it shortly before his death.

Lif had been in Northumbria at the time when he encountered a vengeance demon called Anyanka. The demon spent its time avenging scorned women and had just ordered a man who had abused a nine year old girl to hack off his own genitals and consume them. The demon had been watching the vampiric crusade all over the world and looked on it with a mixture of amusement and rage. She had dispatched several vampires who had harmed women and Lif, the demon was pleased to note, had not killed a single woman, not one in his three hundred and fifty years. Despite his nature it seemed that Lif considered women, children and the elderly to be unworthy prey - he liked a challenge and only preyed on men in their prime.

Charmed by this, Anyanka told Lif what he needed to know. She had been told by her master, D'Hoffryn, that the Gem of Amara was real and it was buried in a tomb on the other side of the world, it was six thousand miles away on the far side of a continent unknown to the Europeans. The gem was to be found in a place called the Valley of the Sun, and none of the local demons knew it was there, best off all there were no vampires on this continent. 

Lif didn't waste any time. Before setting off for this new continent he left a note of the gem's whereabouts in one of his journals, in case he died before he found the ring he wanted to ensure one of his kind would find it.

Lif's fate was recorded by another vampire, one who knew nothing of the gem. Lif commandeered a boat from Viking raiding party. He sired a quarter of the crew, being careful not to mention the gem, and bound the rest to be used as food for the three thousand-mile journey. 

When the Viking boat eventually floundered off the coast of Nova Scotia, only Lif and one other vampire, Herg, were alive. The food didn't last the journey and the vampires were forced to cannabilise each other. Lif and Herg were the strongest two.

Tired and half-insane from hunger the two vampires charged into a nearby forest to escape the rising sun and devour the first animal they came across, unfortunately it was a bear. 

Lif's quest for the gem ended in his own cloud of dust shortly after his arrival in the New World. He was so desperate for food he attacked a full grown male grizzly, which removed his head with a single swipe of its paw.

Herg fled and spent the next eleven years wandering lost in a harsh cold wilderness. Lif had told him they were searching for a treasure that could bring power and wealth to whomever possessed it, but didn't mention where, or what, it was. 

Vampirism was the first plague brought to the Americas from Europe. As he travelled his new home, Herg fed off any native that crossed his path. One day he sired a young woman and then sent her on her way, she sired her five brothers, they sired their wives. Soon whole tribes were turned. Ten years after Herg's arrival one in twenty natives on the East Coast was a vampire. 

The instant one Slayer dies another is called. Just as Herg and three other vampires were chasing down a fourteen year old girl through the swamp that would one day become Washington DC the current Slayer, wounded and half blind, was being mauled to death by a dozen hell hounds in Galway.

Herg's prey stumbled and fell; as the vampire lunged she screamed and in desperation kicked at him. Her foot hit the vampire in the stomach, to both her and Herg's astonishment, Herg flew backwards thirty feet and only stopped when he slammed into a tree and was impaled through the heart on a broken branch. 

The other vamps watched Herg disintegrate. Then they looked at the baffled girl and attacked. After a few minutes the last vampire, minus its left arm, fled into the swamp to spread the word.

The first American Slayer had been chosen.

Lif's journal had been discovered recently in the ruins of an abandoned monastery that had been sacked by the Viking raiders he sired and Herg was known in the legends of the Native American vampires.

The vampire in Pitsea had found Lif's journal and had been researching the legend of Herg when Chapman's team raided its nest. It had almost completed a translation of Lif's writings when it was dusted. 

Chapman's first instinct was to turn the information over to the Council. Then when he checked his reflection he saw pound signs in his eyes. He was tired of slogging his guts out and risking his life for unappreciative bastards like Travers and he was tired of policing for the same reason. No one had any respect for the law these days. Getting the gem would make him rich and finding a buyer would be no problem. He could even hold an auction and he could invite the Council to bid, the sort of money the stone would fetch could buy him a lot of protection.

He would have to go AWOL and head for Sunnydale and hope he located the gem before anyone knew what was happening. Travers had made it very clear that he was finished with the Council, so let Travers sort Spike out.

Rose looked down at the broken body of her husband. 'Funny,' she said as she wiped his blood from the corner of her mouth. 'You'd expect me to feel a bit upset, we only got married last year.'

'And how do you feel?' asked her sire, Dorian, a tall heavily built black vampire who looked to be in his mid-thirties.

Rose grinned. 'Full.'

Dorian and his gang laughed. They were the most successful group in London. The Watchers had been after them for years but they remained hidden, it was nigh on impossible for a nest to grow to more than four or five vamps before the Council came storming in to do some dusting. Dorian had sired a gang of eight.

Dorian put a paternal arm round his newest charges' shoulder. 'Get used to it luv because you'll never feel hungry as long as you are one of us,' he said as he led the young black woman around the East End garage that served as the gang's HQ. 'We're the meanest dogs in the South East.' 

'Dogs, that'd be right.'

Dorian and his followers turned to look at the skinny peroxide blonde standing in the doorway. 

Spike took in the scene with a look of utter contempt on his face. 'Dogs,' he snorted. 'Too bloody right you're dogs. Do you know what dogs that live wild do? They scavenge, make do with scraps.' He said the last remark as he stepped over the body of Rose's husband. 'What did he do eh? Looks like some petty crim to me, who'll notice he's missing, who'll care? No one, certainly not the Watchers, how are you going to build a rep when you snack off dross like him?'

Dorian lunged at the intruder, who left it till the last possible second to move. When he did it was to deliver a roundhouse kick to Dorian's head so hard the gang leader actually span in the air. 

Spike looked at Dorian's astonished gang, no wonder the Watcher's hadn't bothered with them, one look told him all he needed. 

Thieves and whores, junkies, the homeless and except for the one called Rose none of them could have been over fifteen years of age and none of them could have weighed more than seven stone when they were turned, male or female. He treated Rose's husband to another glance. They were feeding off their own kind as well and, probably not venturing beyond their own backyards where they were born. If they'd been picking off city traders or middle class students or tourists they'd never have even seen the Watchers coming. This was how the Watchers liked it, an accepted level of vampirism so long as it was amongst London's underclass.

'Now,' he said, as Dorian lay poleaxed on the ground. 'Seems to me that vampires in London have let themselves go a bit. Hiding in garages, only feeding on the same criminal stock that you lot obviously came from. Why aren't you out there carving a name for yourselves huh? This is the biggest city in Western Europe!'

Dorian's gang looked at each other. Finally, Rose said 'The Watchers…'

'Oh bollocks to the Watchers, I've seen the bastards up close and they couldn't stake me with the element of surprise and twelve to one odds in their favour. They've gone soft. I reckon they need a bit of a wakeup call as well, for their own good. Things in London are bit too sedate for my liking, we need to get this city jumping.'

Spike sat down on a stack of tyres and lit up a cigarette. Harmony came in and draped her arms around him. He blew smoke in the direction of the gang and treated them to a big lazy smile. 'And I think you kids, and Fagin here,' he said pointing at the groaning Dorian, 'are just the ones to help me do it...'

__

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended. 


	2. A no go area for tourists.

****

France is that way?

Part II

__

SPIKE  
Listen to me, you stupid bint. This gem is everything. I came back to Sunnydale for it. A place which has witnessed some truly spectacular kickings of my arse. The very sound of the name burns along my nerve endings. Do you get it? I hate Sunnydale more than life itself. Now, when I have the Gem, they all die, don't worry, but until then, stay inside. And, by the way, I would be insanely happy if, from this point on, I heard bugger all about sodding France!

(In the Harsh Light of Day)

****

19:15 hrs: DS Cunningham was working his way through the witness statements of a particularly vicious armed robbery when the call came through from the station's front desk. _Some old bloke here with info on the Covent Garden riot_ the duty officer had said.

As he made his way into the reception area, Cunningham was shocked to see who the 'old bloke' was.

'Mr. Travers?'

'Hello sergeant. Have a moment to spare?'

A few minutes later the pair was seated in a quiet booth of smoky pub.

'It's Chapman,' said Travers pausing only to drain half a pint of bitter. 'The man's a bloody liability.'

Cunningham nursed his orange juice and said nothing. He didn't like Travers and he didn't like being disloyal to Chapman, the DI was a good friend. Unfortunately, though he hated to admit it, in the last six months since he'd gone to clear out a nest in Essex Chapman had indeed been letting the side down. Both as a policeman and a Watcher, turning up late for work, delegating more and more, cutting corners, even openly coercing witnesses into providing the evidence required to put someone way.

Worst of all, his tardiness had resulted in three council employees being seriously injured on three separate occasions because Chapman had either failed to provide the proper intelligence or had simply failed to watch their backs. And then of course there was Covent Garden.

It was easier to cover up his sloppiness in the police, you looked out for one another, did favours for people, favours that could be called in (which Chapman had, and then some). That wasn't possible in the Watchers Council. They were literally fighting for the survival of billions and if someone wasn't up to the job there was no room for sentiment.

'He's under a lot of pressure at work,' the sergeant mumbled.

Travers finished the other half of his pint and waved the empty glass at the barman to start pouring another. 'We're all under pressure in this business, Cunningham. There are thousands of council employees who have to run dual lives. Chapman doesn't have any family to worry about and we regularly test for substance abuse and watch out for problems like alcoholism. There is nothing to suggest any distraction from his duties but there is now one dead civilian and another seriously injured because of him. To my mind he's just not up to it anymore, burned himself out. Do you want his job?'

Cunningham had been about to argue Chapman's corner when he heard Travers' offer. 'Take over from Mr. Chapman, me?'

'Why not?'

'Er, what about the DI?'

'What about him?'

Cunningham didn't answer; the conversation certainly wasn't going the way he expected.

'Isn't this a bit drastic, have you spoken to Mr. Chapman?'

Travers shook his head. 'No, because we can't find the bugger.'

'What!'

'I take it he hasn't been seen at the station.'

'No, the DCI is going mental. He was supposed to be in court this afternoon.'

Suddenly, Cunningham's radio squawked into life. At the same time a zippy variation on the theme for Hawaii-5-O began to emanate from Travers.

'What is it?' Cunningham said into the radio as the Watcher answered his mobile phone. The voice on the other end crackled excitedly for a few seconds. 'Received, on way,' the sergeant confirmed. He looked at Travers, who had just put away his phone, 'I have to go sir, there's some kind of fracas in Covent Garden again, urgent assistance required.'

'Yes,' said the Watcher. 'A rather fangy species of fracas.'

****

19:23 hrs: Covent Garden was full of quaint little curio shops that sold enticing but useless new age and mystical souvenirs. In particular there a was nice little basement mews in the main market building full of such emporiums, not to mention bars and tea rooms, all of them doing a brisk trade on a nice summers evening. As the sun started to go down the patrons in the lowest level of the Punch & Judy fun pub began to scream.

****

19:28 hrs: Spike wandered behind the bar of the now empty Punch & Judy and helped himself to a large vodka on the rocks. 'Want one?' he asked Harmony.

Harmony looked nervous. 'Do you think I should, I'm not old enough.'

'You are in this country luv, and let's not forget the whole murderous vampire gig you're exploring. Bit to late to worry about underage boozing.'

'Oh. 'Kay, make it a double southern comfort on the rocks with a slice of lime and a beer chaser.'

Spike gave her bemused look and set about fixing her order. 'And for you sir?' he said to the sulking Dorian.

'Fosters,' said the black vamp. Outside came the screams of tourists as his gang finished off those trampled in the rush to get out of the bar and moved on to more sprightly prey.

He nervously shuffled his feet; he wasn't used to being so exposed. 'Look,' he said as he accepted his beer, 'are you sure about this? We've never done anything so overt, the kids are likely to lose their heads with so much excitement - take too many risks.'

Spike snorted and gave Harmony her drinks. 'So? You're too protective Dor. They need to get out and see something of the world. There's all sorts of nationalities out there they can meet and kill, gives em a taste of the exotic.'

Dorian didn't look convinced. 'The Watchers'll take them.'

'If they do they do, 'sides it'll hone the instincts of the ones who get clear and give you a leaner crew to work with.'

Dorian couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. 'You're not stopping?'

'Nope, just needed your help to create a bit of noise and draw a few Watchers out and more importantly some filth as well.'

'Filth?'

'One in particular, goes by the name of Chapman.'

Dorian was baffled. 'Then why not just grab some woodentop on the beat and choke Chapman's location out of him?'

Spike shrugged. 'I was bored and this is more fun.'

The three vampires reacted to the sounds of approaching police sirens. 'Ah,' said Spike, 'time to go.'

He knelt down and picked up a broken chair leg that had snapped off when Dorian's gang had crashed in.

'Ready Harm?'

Harmony downed her beer. 'Yes Spikey.'

'There's my girl.' And with that he hurled the chair leg across the bar where the broken end embedded itself in Dorian's heart.

'Dogs' he sneered at the newly formed pile of ash. 'A man amongst boys and boy amongst men that one, those kids of his need more than living in a garage. Now, lets go snare a pig.' 

Rose finished feeding off the five-year old boy and turned her attention to the child's mother. The woman had fought like a tiger for her son and had her back broken for her valour. She managed to scream before Rose torn her throat out.

The new vampire stared around the carnage strewn tourist spot; this was more like it! Dorian had been content for them to laze around in some rundown lock-up snacking off the homeless. She was better than that, they all were. She was now loose in London and she was going to be a queen!

She was so lost in her fantasy she didn't notice the three policemen till she was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

****

19:30 hrs: Travers and Cunningham arrived on the scene as Dorian's gang started to move out from the Punch & Judy area to engage a couple of dozen police officers and two armed response teams who had been summoned.

'Stay back you fool,' hissed Travers as Cunningham moved in. 'Do you want to die?'

Cunningham stared at his superior. 'Sir those officers are totally unprepared, they've no idea what those things are.'

'And no idea who we are and who you really serve,' snapped the older man. 'There are teams of trained operatives surrounding the area right now, the vampires are outnumbered and when they run they'll run right into them.'

'And what about those men in there?' yelled Cunningham.

On cue armed response units opened fire on the charging vamps. The unexpected slaughter and better class of victim had gone straight to the gang's collective heads and temporarily driven them beyond reason. They didn't even notice the pain of being shot and leapt on the armed officers, over half the police who had immediately responded to the call were already dead.

Two of the vampires broke through the police line and made straight for Travers and Cunningham. One of them, a girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen, went for Cunningham. The other one, a male, leapt on Travers and knocked him to the ground.

As opposed to a firearm many UK police officers carried CS spray, Cunningham also carried a canister of holy water and he sprayed the she-vampire full in the face. The demon shrieked and stumbled around howling as its face melted off. Totally blinded it never saw the DS produce a stake from inside his coat. 

As he dusted the girl, Cunningham heard a scream from the other vampire. He saw the male stagger back from Travers, who was sitting up and dabbing at his neck with a handkerchief, and then fall to its knees and start retching.

Cunningham was too stunned to move as the vampire spewed up dark green bile. Travers had gotten to his feet and, still holding the handkerchief to his neck, calmly went over to the DS and took the stake from his unresisting hand. The Watcher pointed at the canister of holy water in Cunningham's other hand. 'I find it easier just to bathe in that stuff rather than carry it around,' he said by way of an explanation.

As Travers finished off his assailant, Cunningham turned to survey the destruction. Bodies everywhere, police and civilians. The remaining vampires had already fled, hopefully straight into the arms of the nearby Watchers. He saw three officers struggling with a young woman. _Bloody hell, they've caught one._

The woman was trashing like a shark being dragged out of the water. One of the arresting officers, a WPC Cunningham had never seen before, produced a cross and held it against the captives' face. _That's why they're alive, they work for the council as well._

The WPC was yelling at the men to hold the vamp still while she found a stake.

'STOP!' bellowed Cunningham and without bothering to check on Travers, he ran over to the surviving officers and showed them his warrant card and Watcher's security pass. 

'DS Cunningham, Watcher's clearance level three. Leave this one alive.'

The female officer frowned. 'WPC Harris, sarge this is Holt and Naylor,' she said indicating the two burly men who were struggling to contain the vampire. 'Why do you want it alive, look at what it's done!'

Cunningham heard the wail of approaching sirens. 'There are several council teams nearby clearing up the rest, we hope. We need to turn this _thing_ over to them before anyone who doesn't know the score arrives.'

Harris' eyes narrowed. 'The council is nearby and they didn't help! This bitch and her mates have killed almost 20 coppers.'

'Don't argue with me Harris, we need to get this creature out of here now, it may have some information I need!'

Travers came over to join them. 'I've already summoned assistance, sergeant. I suggest we find a suitable hiding place for this _lady_.'

'Right you are sir,' and with that Cunningham sprayed the remaining holy water in Rose's face and kicked her in the back of the head as she fell to the ground.

'Uncuff her and stick her amongst the other corpses,' he ordered the rather shaken looking Holt and Naylor. 'Make sure you stay near her and someone'll be along to help you get her out. If she comes to, don't dust her unless it's absolutely necessary, we need to find out who organised this. I'll be buggered if it was any of this scum. Harris, this is Mr. Travers I want you to escort him away from here. Understood?'

'Yes sarge.'

As he was led away, Travers gave the DS a small smile that Cunningham didn't return. The smile all too clearly said _we know who set this up, don't we. He's taunting us._

Cunningham watched Holt and Naylor drag the unconscious vamp over to a pile of bodies and then turned to greet the approaching police reinforcements.

__

I dunno what you're up to you little blonde bastard but I'm going to tear your spine out.

****

19:47 hrs: Not far away from Covent Garden, Harmony was sitting peacefully in the back of a blue transit van. 'That was _fun!_' she squealed at Spike, who was busy trying to maneuver the van through the mid-evening London traffic.

'Hmm,' he replied.

'Didn't you like it?' Harmony asked. 'There was all that good stuff and we got our souvenir,' she said, pointing at the unconscious policemen who was trussed up on the floor of the van.'

'Maybe, but I dunno whether he'll be any use now,' said Spike.'

'Why?'

'Cause the Watchers have infiltrated the police that's why. While you were tying up plod back there I was watching the fireworks and I saw three little pigs capture one of Dorian's mob and another two were dusted by a plain clothes one and some old fart who was obviously a member of the Council. That's 

how Chapman knew about the Gem of Amara, he's a sodding Watcher in his spare time. Our job has just become a damn sight harder.'

Spike drove the van up to the derelict building on Crucifix Street, 'right we're home.'

'Eww,' said Harmony. 'It's gross, why couldn't we have used my apartment?'

'Cause you have lots of neighbours who might call the police in order to find out where all the screams are coming from, now help me get the thin blue line inside.'

****

21:00 hrs: 'Now,' said Travers, 'lets have that again with a bit more feeling Rose.'

Rose screamed as Cunningham pressed a small silver cross against what was left of her forehead. The holy water hadn't killed her but she was disfigured, even with a vampires super regenerative powers it would be months, maybe years before her face mended itself. As it was she didn't even have days.

Travers looked at the shackled vampire. 'We're not enjoying this, Rose. Unlike yourself we take no pleasure in torture.'

Cunningham gave the vampire an evil smile, as far as he was concerned she had the blood of almost twenty fellow officers on her hands.

'I don't know where he is,' said Rose through huge, choking sobs. 'I'd never even heard of Spike till this afternoon.'

'How long have you been a vampire Rose?' asked Travers.

'One day.'

Cunningham laughed and pressed the cross back against her forehead. 'Starting as you meant to go eh?'

'Sergeant,' said Travers reprovingly as Rose let out another scream. 'We are not at home to Mr. Emotion and Mrs. Revenge.'

'Sir.'

__

'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know,' Rose shrieked. _'I don't know where he is!!!'_

Travers dropped the civil tone. '_Then what did he want?'_

'I d-don't…some copper called Chapman, I don't know why.'

Travers and Cunningham couldn't have been more surprised if Rose had got up and walked through the walls of the interrogation suite.

Travers spoke first. 'Chapman? Harry Chapman?'

'I don't know his first name, I overheard Spike talking to his girlfriend, some divvy American, he just asked her if she'd recognise some pig called Chapman if she saw him again.'

Cunningham was baffled. 'That's, that's ludicrous. Why go to all that trouble? He could have just beaten some plod into radioing in for Chapman's whereabouts.'

'I imagine he was bored,' said Travers solemnly. 'Sergeant, find out if any officers who were patrolling in the Covent Garden area at the time of the riot are still unaccounted for and if so sound the alert. Thank you Rose, you may go.'

Rose barely had time to register the meaning of the words before she disintegrated. Cunningham put this stake away and gave Travers an astonished look. 'DI Chapman, he's after DI Chapman.'

'Hm, our girl heard him talking about Chapman this afternoon so we can assume he hasn't found him yet.' 

'But doesn't explain what's happened to Chapman though,' said Cunningham. 'If I heard Spike was after me I'd run straight to the council.'

'You and me both, but what if he can't. What if the reason Spike is looking for him is also the reason he can't come to us. Of course his disappearance and Spike's arrival might be a coincidence. He may not know that our William is looking for him.'

****

20:36 hrs: Spike loomed over the injured constable. 'Now,' he said pleasantly and looked at the man's warrant card, 'Officer Wriggle, do you know who I am?'

PC Wriggle shook is head.

'Do you what I am?'

PC Wriggle nodded.

'Are you anything to do with the Watchers Council, don't lie.'

Another nod.

'Been on the force long?'

A shake of the head.

'How about the council?'

Another nod.

'They decided to stick you in the police.'

Another nod.

'Hm, well my name is Spike, heard of me now?'

A very slow nod.

'Lovely,' Spike clapped his hands together. 'So we can dispense with the torture and get down to brass tacks and you can have a quick death. I would torture you under normal circumstances but sadly I just don't have the time. Now, I'm going to remove the gag. Yell out and I remove your eyes okay?'

Another nod.

Spike removed the gag. 'Do you know a copper by the name of Chapman and if so is he a Watcher?'

Wriggle nodded. 'He's a detective inspector, works at my station. I-I only transferred there yesterday.'

'Really? Like I give a toss about your working arrangements. Where is he?'

'No one knows.'

Spike gave Wriggle an exasperated look. 'What did I say about lying?'

'I'm not lying, I'm not. He's gone AWOL, the Council is looking for him and so are the police, he just didn't turn up for work today.'

Spike swore. 'Bollocks! You're not lying are you.'

'No!'

'Hm, better make sure,' and with that he hauled Wriggle to his feet and hit him with a back handed swipe that lifted the policeman off his feet. Wriggle hit the ground hard and rolled over coughing up blood and teeth.

Spike walked over to the injured cop and grabbed his radio. 'Now, call in and ask for DI Chapman's location and if he answers or they tell you where he is you and I aren't going to be friends anymore.'

****

23:25 hrs: 'The only officer missing is PC Andrew Wriggle,' said Cunningham. 'He was transferred to my station yesterday and he's a council man.'

Travers thumped the top of his desk. 'Damn.'

Cunningham shrugged. 'Fortunately he won't be able to give Spike any information on Chapman's whereabouts.'

'What about you?' said Travers.

'We hadn't met, he didn't even know my name all he knew was that Chapman was senior Watcher in the nick and that there was only one other. Harris, Holt and Naylor are assigned to another station so he doesn't know them either.'

'Hm, small mercy I suppose.'

There was a knock at the door and Harris entered. 'Sorry to disturb you sir,' she said to Travers. 'But we've just searched Chapman's flat and he's cleared out in a hurry, took most of his clothes and whatever personal effects he has are gone as well.'

Travers frowned. 'I have to admit I was rather hoping some accident had befallen him.'

'Any idea where he's gone?' asked Cunningham.

'No sir, but I reckon he's planning to flee the country.'

'How can you be so sure?'

Harris threw a little red booklet onto Travers desk. 'Cause we found that on his hall table, I doubt he'll be going anywhere without it.'

****

00:00 hrs: Chapman sat in the tube train, taking the Piccadilly Line away from Heathrow Airport, and buried his head in his hands. He-had-forgotten-his-passport.

His passport. He had turned up at the check-in desk and discovered that he had_ forgotten his passport!_ His passport. His bloody, sodding, pissing PASSPORT!!!!

His passport. Daft bugger. He could hardly go back to his flat for it in case someone was there. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How was he going to get out of England now? The council had operatives stationed at every airport throughout the country and when he arrived at Heathrow he found out about what had happened at Covent Garden just after sunset. Spike, it had to be. A bit of retaliation for the attempt on his life, the attempt that Chapman had authorised. It wasn't just a couple of dead tourists now, the Council wouldn't just fire him they'd probably kill him, this balls-up made Wesley Wyndham-Price and his losing two slayers look like a trivial error. 

If he'd had his passport on him (stupid, stupid, stupid) he'd have checked in and hoped that he'd be on the plane and in the air before anyone noticed. But he hadn't had he and even if he could risk going home by the time he got back to Heathrow every council employee would be on the look out for him. He couldn't even go to Cunningham, with so many coppers being killed as an indirect result of his bad call the DS would be likely to turn him over to Travers. 

Of course getting a false passport wouldn't be too difficult, you didn't become a DI in the Met without making a few dodgy acquaintances but that still didn't neutralise the council's agents or the police. That was the other thing of course, he had screwed up big time with the council and done a runner. He knew how they'd respond; he'd seen it done before. Right now someone, perhaps Cunningham was discovering 'evidence' that he'd been involved in some form of bribery and corruption. Standard procedure when dealing with any renegade employees who were in positions of power in their civilian lives - wreck their careers. His former colleagues in both the force and the council would be looking for him now. No, a funny passport and a false moustache weren't going to be enough to get him on a plane.

He stayed on the underground train until it had taken him through Central London. Getting off at Turnpike Lane station he made his way to the nearest pay-phone and dialed the number he'd been saving for an 'absolutely nowhere to turn last resort emergency.'

On the third ring the call was answered. 'Yes?'

'It's Chapman, I need that favour.'

****

04:00 hrs: A bleary eyed Cunningham slouched into Travers office looking absolutely miserable. Travers didn't look any happier. Neither men had gotten more than three hours sleep for two nights straight.

'Is it done?' he asked.

Cunningham nodded. 'Naylor went back to Chapman's flat and left a shit-load of cocaine in five separate bags under a floorboard in his bedroom. Pretty crude if you ask me, all he has to do is claim it was planted and any competent barrister will raise the question of why didn't he take it with him if was going on the run.'

Travers didn't look concerned. 'He's not going to get a trial, you know that. Informants sorted out?'

'Oh yes, two snouts who've never met are now ready to swear that the DI put pressure on them to find a buyer for some snow he'd picked up in a raid. I stole some from the evidence locker, it was seized months ago - the dealers still on remand awaiting trial. And I've got more than enough dirt to make sure a couple of dealers he arrested and put away have grounds to appeal, by the end it'll look like Chapman fitted them up because they wouldn't take his merchandise.'

'Capital.'

Cunningham bristled at that. 'Capital? Sir, we're engineering the release of a bunch of drug dealers - violent scum. All right Chapman might have planted a bit of evidence on them to get a conviction but there must be another way to stitch him up.'

Travers shrugged. 'Sergeant, these dealers won't get the chance to resume plying their disgusting trade I assure you of that. And before you start feeling guilt about betraying a colleague may I remind you he did get his retaliation in first.'

'But we don't really know that he's guilty of anything.'

'No? Where is he? Why is Spike looking for him? Why has he been so slipshod these last few months? At first I thought it was incompetence but it seems to be rather more sinister now doesn't it. He was working towards an entirely different goal if you ask me, for all we know he was working with Spike and double-crossed him. And if nothing else do you think what happened last night should go unpunished?'

Cunningham gave up. There was no denying that someone had to pay for what had gone on and Chapman was the only viable candidate, aside from Spike of course. The appalling numbers were in; 19 dead police officers, 25 dead civilians (not counting the woman from the bungled attempt to dust Spike and PC Wriggle who was almost certainly dead) and one international incident. Several of the dead were tourists, Japanese, French, a couple of Australians and one American, an American who was the daughter of a very senior US senator. 

The political repercussions were felt within half and hour of the attack, the Prime Minister angrily denouncing this repulsive act and promising tougher laws to deal with drug-users (violent crack-heads was the official story) and longer sentences for murder when Parliament reconvened in the autumn. The Leader of the Opposition joined in with even wilder promises of draconian crackdowns. He was also hinting that he was willing to entertain the demands of the loonier members of his party and call a referendum on reintroducing the death penalty if his party won the next election (six of the dead civilians had been children under the age of ten). The tabloids would have a field day stoking up the masses to vote for that one. 

Then came chucking out time at the pubs and thousands of drunken gorillas with 'little kiddies of their own' spilling out onto the streets. Within two hours of closing time reports of vigilante attacks on drug users and dealers were coming in. Or to be more specific, reports of attacks on those who were mistaken for drug users and dealers were coming in. Three art students from South Bank University had already been kicked to death. And this was before the news about the senator's daughter came out and the US State Department got on the phone.

The problem was that there was no one who could be publicly arrested for the massacre. They could hardly present Spike or any of those juvenile vamps (who had all been dusted) to the press or Chapman come to think of it. Oh they'd find someone, sweep up a gang of homeless druggie teenagers who bore a passing resemblance to the killers (plenty of them about in London) but it was hardly a satisfactory outcome. 

****

04:30 hrs: PC Bateman was sitting on the station front desk and trying his hardest not to fall asleep. Only another 90 minutes and home time he told himself.

'Bateman?'

Bateman looked up and saw a bloodied and beaten PC Wriggle fall into the reception area.

'Bloody hell!'

****

05:24 hrs: PC Harris charged into Travers office to find the Watcher slumped over his desk snoring his head off. Cunningham was sitting in a leather armchair by the window making similar noises.

'Sir,' she said shaking Travers. 'SIR!'

'Uh, wha,' slurred Travers as he looked up from the puddle of drool that had been slowly spreading across the desktop. 'Harris?'

The WPC had already moved on to Cunningham. 'Sarge, wake up.'

Travers looked at his watch. 'Bloody hell woman it's nearly five-thirty in the morning. Don't you sleep.'

Despite her agitated state, Harris looked peeved. 'No sir, because you told me to spend the night listening out for reports on PC Wriggle.'

'Who?'

'The officer Spike kidnapped,' said Cunningham, who was rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'Found him have they?'

'Yes sarge, he's back at Tavistock Street nick.'

'What?'

'He blundered in there about an hour ago, had the hell beaten out of him but he's alive.'

Travers still wasn't quite up to speed. 'Alive?'

'Yes,' grinned Harris, 'he must have escaped.'

Cunningham frowned. 'And he went to the station instead of coming to us?'

****

05:25 hrs: Chief Commissioner Oswald didn't like early starts, after thirty years of shinning up the greasy pole of promotion he was of the opinion that no one below the rank of Chief Inspector should have to start work before nine-thirty. But last night had been catastrophic, 19 good officers slaughtered. He hadn't even had time to sleep, his night had been one long round of visits to distraught parents and spouses. Seventeen of the dead officers had young children, what a terrible waste.

Then there had been the press conferences and the meeting with the Home Secretary, someone was going to have to fall on his sword for this and it damn well wasn't going to be the politician. It had been made plain to Oswald that he was going to head up the response to this atrocity (i.e. take the blame) and to make an impact in the fight against drugs in order to give his successor some remove to breathe when Oswald retired in six months. He hadn't intended to retire for at least another two-years, but then he hadn't been given a choice.

He'd been making his way home when the call came; one officer who was unaccounted for had resurfaced. The man was in a terrible state but was refusing to go to a hospital until he'd spoken to his senior officers. He claimed to have a description of the leader of the attackers, that this was no random explosion of drug fuelled desperation. It had been planned? What sort of sick mind would come up with something like that?

The man was lucky to be alive and this was the first bit of good news Oswald had heard all evening. The troops needed to see their leaders cared, which was why he was heading to Tavistock Street Station to hear what the man had to say for himself.

The desk sergeant saluted as he came into the station's custody area. 'Sir.'

Oswald returned the salute. 'Where are they?

'In Superintendent Michaels office sir, he and Detective Chief Inspector Summers arrived a couple of minutes ago.'

'And Constable Wriggle?'

'In with them sir.'

'Good.'

****

05:26 hrs: 'Why didn't he come to us?' Demanded Cunningham.

'He couldn't have been thinking straight,' said Harris. 'By all accounts he was dead on his feet.'

They stared at each other for a second of horrified comprehension.

Michaels and Summers stood to attention as Oswald entered the room. The constable who had to be Wriggle remained seated. Despite what the poor man had gone through, Oswald was enough of a autocrat to be slightly nettled that he didn't stand.

'Please Colin, Robert,' he said to the senior pair, 'it's too early, or late, to bother about formality.'

In the station's CAD room, Sergeant Graham Close heard a familiar voice crackling in his headpiece.

'_235 to Control, over, Control!!'_

'Control,' said Close, 'that you Fred? Bit early for CID to be up isn't it?'

__

'Shut up,' snarled Cunningham. _'Wriggle, is PC Wriggle still in the building?'_

'How'd you know -'

'_IS HE THERE?'_

'Yes, he's in Michaels office with the DCI and the Commissioner no less.'

'_Arrest him, get as many men as you can and arrest him. Cuff him the first chance you get.'_

'Fred?'

__

'Arrest him!'

****

05:27 hrs: 'It's going to be sunrise soon,' said Wriggle as he stood up to face the senior officers. 'But when they told me the commissioner was coming in I just had to wait.'

Spike sat on the bonnet of his latest stolen car and looked at the station across the road. Suddenly, alarm bells burst into action and from the one of the higher floors came the sound of a breaking window.

'Spike,' called Harmony from the passenger seat, 'the sun.'

'Don't worry petal,' he said as he climbed into the drivers seat and started the engine. 'Sun's not for another half hour, plenty of time to get where we need to go. '

'Then France?'

He sighed. 'Yes pookie, France.'

'Neat, do think we could try some real _chocolate pain_ while we're there?'

****

08:00 hrs: _'The savage murder of Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Dennis Oswald has been a brutal climax to a night of violence that has destroyed London's reputation as one of the world's safest cities. Superintendent Colin Michaels and Detective Chief Inspector Robert Summers died alongside Sir Dennis. Police have issued a warrant for the arrest of PC Andrew Wriggle, no comment has been made on PC Wriggle's involvement but police are warning that he is extremely dangerous and should not be approached. The three murders brings the number of police killed in the last three days to 24, alongside 28 members of the public who died last night including the daughter of US senator Victor Dayton.**'**_

Chapman mentally tuned out the rest of the radio news as the report went on to detail quotes from various politicians, including the US President who expressed sympathy for Senator Dayton's loss and promised the UK authorities his full support in bringing the killers to justice.

The door to the greasy spoon café opened and his contact finally walked in. 'Where the hell have you been,' Chapman hissed as the man sat down opposite him. 'You're an hour late, I can only drink so much tea you know.'

'I've been watching you for the last hour,' replied the man. 'Just wanted to make sure this wasn't a sting of some kind.'

'A sting? No one knows you're even in the country.'

'And I'd like to keep it that way,' said the man, who beckoned to the frumpy middle-aged woman behind the counter. 'Full english, luv,' he said as she jotted down his order. 'With a couple of extra rashers and a bucket of stewed tea.'

The woman sniffed. 'Bout bleeding time someone ordered something, your mate has just had tea. Gawd knows why I bovver openin this early.'

The man looked round at the empty café. 'I'm sure this place will be bursting to the seams with punters anxious to see your smiling face.'

The woman grunted and sloped off back behind the counter.

Chapman went bright red. _'Busy!_ You said this place is always empty.'

'Course it is, the foods crap and she's got a face like a bulldog licking piss off nettles.'

The radio news finished and Chapman heard the voice of the breakfast DJ offering his condolences to the families of the deceased and pledging that his station was to set up an appeal fund for them.

Chapman span round in his seat and yelled at the woman. 'Will you change the fucking channel, put it on Sport FM!'

The woman gave another grunt and started to retune the radio.

The man smiled. 'That's how I knew it was safe to come in, I heard a couple of rumours last night. This is down to you in someway isn't it,' he whispered.

'I haven't killed anyone.'

'No, but you set it in motion. Spikey-boy isn't known for letting assassination attempts go unpunished, that was a bloody stupid thing to do.'

'How'd you know about that?'

The man smirked. 'Everyone, who is in the know, knows. It was common knowledge our William was back, you should have come to me first.'

'Well I'm here now, can you do it?'

'Sure, get me a passport and I can make it so anyone who looks at you will see the face of the photo in it. That's old magic, the best. Simple to do and impenetrable.'

'Couldn't you just make me invisible?'

'Don't be daft, not only would you be visible if you were hit by any liquids I have it on good authority that the Watchers who are stationed at the airports have been issued with infra-red devices. They'd pick up your body heat.'

'Oh,' said Chapman. 'I didn't know that.'

'They're not shouting about it. Now, this is going to be expensive, very expensive.'

'What! You said it was simple.'

'Oh it will be but because it's so easy to do the ingredients for the spell cost a bloody fortune, 99% tax on most items. You're looking at 10 grand easy. _Annnnd _that's including part exchange on the favour you did me, I won't be making any profit but it can't be done any cheaper. Do you have that kind of money?'

Chapman nodded sullenly. The waitress bought over the man's order and practically threw it on the table.

As she stomped off, Chapman leaned across the table. 'You try and con me and I'll kill you.'

Ethan Rayne gave the DI a lazy smile. 'Harry, Harry. If it hadn't been for you I'd have been picked up the second I got off the plane. You did me a big favour which I'm going to repay,' he skewered a sausage with his knife and took a big bite. 'Y'know,' he said with his mouth full, 'those Airport Watchers are very good at keeping undesirables in but not too hot on keeping them out are they…'

__

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended. 


	3. Quantum Leaping.

****

France is that way?

Part III

__

HARMONY: …Listen, Spike ... I'm desperate.   
SPIKE: Desperate, are you? 

HARMONY: Come on, Spike. Pretty please? I'll do anything!   
SPIKE: Anything, will you?   
HARMONY: Yeah! I said I'll do anything. 

Spike raises his eyebrows. 

HARMONY: Ohhhh. You mean will I have sex with you? (shrugs casually, like "duh") Well, yeah. 

She lights up a cigarette. 

SPIKE: Taking up smoking, are you? 

HARMONY: I *am* a villain, Spike, hellooooo.

__

(Out of my mind.)

Every city that had a substantial occult population had a bar like it. Sunnydale had Willy's Place, Los Angeles had The Caritas, and Rome had the Amon Amore… 

London had Balthazar's.

As Spike led Harmony down the stairs and away from the rising sun she looked at the carpet with immense distaste. 

'Eww. Tartan.'

Spike span round and hissed at her. 'Yes, bloody tartan.' He pointed at a blue flag with a white cross that was hanging from the ceiling. 'And that is the Cross of St.Andrew, meaning the owner of this establishment is very proud of his Scottish heritage and as we need his help I would be immensely grateful if you kept your trap shut while we're here!'

Harmony was puzzled. 'Scotland, that's the sticky out bit under Wales right?'

Balthazar's was a place where all species could congregate without worrying about anyone ending up on the menu. Demons, humans, even vampires were free to mingle and relax in each others company, confident that they didn't have to worry about killing each other until they got two paces outside the front door.

'So what is he?' whispered Harmony as they went in.

'A kelpie, a Scottish water demon, you probably won't have seen his kind before so try not to draw attention to his looks.'

The place was in full swing with a crowd that was mostly vampires who had been too far from home to make it to shelter when the sun rose. As Spike and Harmony entered dozens of separate conversations tailed off in the space of two seconds.

Forty pairs of eyes, six pairs belonging to the same demon, glared at Spike with a mixture of suspicion, fear, anger and straightforward bafflement.

'Morning all,' he said chirpily as he made his way to the bar. 'Oi, Lurch,' he called to the barman, a seven foot tall zombie, 'how's about some service?'

Clawed hands grabbed his arm and span him round to pin him against the bar.

'Who do you think you are coming round here?' snarled a drunken vampire that had several rings through his left nostril. 'Every Watcher in town is looking for you and you waltz in here with some yank bitch…'

The vampire didn't get any further as a huge hand enveloped his head and pulled him into the hair so fast his shoes fell off.

__

'NAE FIGHTIN,' bellowed the voice of the hands as it hurled the vampire across the bar where it landed against a bricked up window and slid to the floor. '_AND YEZ WATCH YER FOCKING LANGUAGE IN FRONT O'THE LASSIE, YE KEN!'_

Spike gave the newcomer a smile. 'Alright Balthazar.'

To his left he could hear Harmony's gasp of surprise as she gazed up at the nine-foot tall horse-headed demon. There wasn't a square inch of Balthazar that wasn't taut blue-skinned muscle and he was completely naked except for a kilt and a crude woolen vest.

The demon swung his snout toward her, pulled his bestial mouth into something approaching a smile, and ran his hands through his mane of bright orange hair. 'Sorree aeboot that luv,' he rumbled in a more gentle tone. 'As canae stand _bastards_ what swears in frontae lasses.'

's'okay,' she squeaked, Balthazar's eyes were jet black and by far and away the most intimidating thing about him. They made him look even deader than the zombie behind the bar.

'Stevie,' the kelpie snapped at the barman, 'get the lady whaever she likes. Um gonna have a wee word wi'this gobshite oot back.'

The zombie made a noise that came out as a string of es's and began pouring Harmony a pint of lager as Balthazar lifted Spike up by his collar and dragged him into his office.

'Siddoon,' he said as he dropped the vampire on a moldy old sofa in the corner of the office. 'And whose aboot yez tell me wha ye doin here?'

Spike waited until the kelpie closed the office door before he spoke. 'Laying the accent on a bit thick aren't you?'

'Aye well,' said Balthazar in lighter tone that had only a hint of Scottish brogue. 'The customers expect it, I moved doon here from Aberdeen over three hundred years ago and they still think I should talk like Scotty from Star Trek. Now, what are you doing here bringing ma respectable establishment intae disrepute?'

Spike sat back and stretched. 'Need some information.'

'You serious? After what you've been doing the last coupla days, it'll be suicide for anyone who'll help you. The Watchers were in here twice last night after that stunt at Covent Garden with Dorian's gang. It was you who put them up to it weren't it.'

'Certainly was,' Spike chuckled. 'Been in twice already have they?'

'And no guarantee that they won't be back any second. The Council's put the word out Billy, curtains for anyone who gets between you and them.'

'So why haven't you kicked me out?'

'I'm getting to that, there's a sewer you and your bird can use soon to get as far away from me as possible. I just figured you'd make a scene if I didn't hear you out, plus I owe you.'

'Do you?'

'Aye, fer getting rid o'me competition. Nerk had been eating into me profits with his bloody pay-per-view sports cable and county & western theme nights; you've taken care of all that. Now, what do you want?'

'I'm looking for a Watcher called Harry Chapman.'

Now it was Balthazar's turn to chuckle. 'Aye, thought you might.'

'How'd you know?'

'Well, he was the Watcher who ordered the hit on you the other night.'

Spike's face darkened. 'Did he now.'

'Ooh, there's another reason is there? Well good luck because the Council's been asking after him as well. Seems he's blotted his copybook and done a bunk and if they are then so are the police.'

'Bollocks!'

'Urgent bit o'business with him yeah.'

'Too bloody right.'

In as much as a horse can look thoughtful, Balthazar appeared to be contemplating something. 'How much cash do you have on you?'

'Dunno, I take it when I need it. Couple of thousand.'

'Tsk, two big ones. Is that all? Ah well.'

And with that Balthazar went and sat behind his desk, which easily had room under it for a range rover, and began to rummage about in one of the drawers. 

'Two thou is a bit on the cheap side for this, but you see a few weeks back your man Chapman comes swaggering in here like he's Lord Snooty-Muck of Canterburyhamshire. 'Surprise inspection' he sez. 'Don't like the element y've been attracting Mr. Boswell' he sez. Bastard only goes and shuts me doon for three whole days while he has his lads take the place apart. Didn't find nothing o'course, he was taking a bung from yon Nerk to cause me a bit of grief. Still, while he's here he gets bored and careless. Starts bitin his nails, filthy habit if you ask me but each to his own. Ah, here we are.'

Spike stood up and looked at the small polythene bag Balthazar was holding.

'Bites his nails off and leaves em in an ashtray,' said the kelpie with a big toothy smile. 'Silly bugger, the wrong person gets hold o'these they can bring him under their control with the right spell. That's old magic that, oldest you can get. Un-bloody-stoppable. Now, how's about my two grand bonny lad?'

Roy Meagher was an estate agent in a bad mood. First he overslept, then he couldn't find his door keys, then the tubes were delayed, then the train got stuck in the tunnel for half an hour, then when he finally got to Turnpike Lane station the silly bitch he was supposed to showing a flat to called him on his mobile to say she couldn't make it. And now some strange bloke in a long gray mac was staring at him.

'Pardon me,' said the man and he gave Roy an intense unblinking look. 'It's…..Roy? Isn't it.'

'Er, yeah. I'm sorry, have we met?'

'Oh never and I doubt we will again,' again with the stare. 'My name's Ethan, tell me, do you have a passport?'

'I…,' Roy wanted to ask why this man would want to know that but his gaze was very off-putting. 'Yes, I do.'

'Don't suppose you have it on you.'

'No, it's at my flat.'

'And where do you live?'

__

None of your bloody business and who the hell are you? That was what he wanted to say. 'Flat 16b, St John Street, near Angel tube station.' Was what he actually said.

'Islington,' the stranger smiled and continued staring. ' Very nice. Can I have your keys, ooh and better have a look at your wallet as well.'

__

Look mate I don't know who you are but you can fuck off. 'Certainly, here's the keys and here's the wallet.'

'Thank you,' without looking Ethan took out the credit cards and handed them back to Roy and pocketed the wallet. 'Do you have a burglar alarm?'

'No.'

'Live with anyone?'

'No.'

'Okay, here's what I think you should do. I think you should go to Kings Cross station and use your credit card to take a train to Edinburgh, book yourself into a hotel for a few days, look around, amuse yourself with a couple of whores. Just go on a good old-fashioned pub-crawl, a real binge, enjoy yourself.'

'Thanks, I will.'

'Good lad.'

'Bye Ethan.'

'Bye Roy.'

And with that Roy wandered off into the tube station.

Ethan watched him until he was out of sight and then started crying. 'Ghaahhh,' he moaned and began rubbing his eyes. 'That can really bloody hurt. Ahhh.'

Chapman, who had been standing nearby, looked at the warlock in astonishment. 'That was amazing, you took over his mind.'

'No, just cast a quick spell to render him totally subservient to suggestion. If you blink even once during the first two minutes the spell breaks,' Ethan grabbed Chapman's hand and stuffed Roy's keys into it. 'You heard the address, go there and wait for me. Don't answer the phone and don't answer the door unless it's me. I'll knock quickly three times then slowly four times.'

'Where are you going?'

'Get the ingredients for the spell,' said Ethan, tears still rolling down his cheeks. 'You got the money?'

Chapman gave him a key. 'Storage locker 50, Waterloo Station. There's five grand in there.'

'Five? I told you ten.'

'If you think I'm giving you ten grand then sitting in some bloke's flat on my tod waiting for you to come back then think again. I'll reimburse you after you complete the spell. Don't tell me you haven't got the money, not after what I've just seen you do. Incidentally if you try anything like that with me I'll break your face.'

Ethan smiled. 'What makes you think I won't just settle for five grand?'

'Cause there's 20 thou in another locker in Waterloo, I'll pay you back the five and give you another three for your trouble and if you're going to walk away from an extra three grand then I have seriously misjudged you.'

'My dear Harry, for three extra grand I'd mud wrestle my own mother.'

'Spike, my feet are wet and it smells in here.'

Spike looked up at the manhole cover; a few needles of sunlight were shining through the holes. 'That's because it's a sewer my little stocking top.'

'Well, well why did we have come down here, it's icky.'

'Cause old Balthazar Boswell is a demon of his word and when he said he'd tear my head off if we didn't leave, I believed him. Now pipe down.'

Harmony was quiet for all of three seconds. 'Do we have to stay down here all day?'

'No… just till lunchtime. Then we can go and get the necessary ingredients for the spell.'

'What's so important about a bunch of fingernails? Eww, you're carrying someone's fingernails around in a plastic bag.'

Spike sighed. 'With the right mixture these fingernails can be used to cast a spell on the person who shed them. It won't matter where Chapman is in the world because I can make him come straight to me. Or, if he's closer to the gem than he is to me he can get the gem and then bring it to me. Either way, Officer Harry Chapman is going to make me the dog's bollocks of the vampire world. Then it's off to Sunnydale and hello and goodbye Buffy 'sodding' Summers.'

'But what about France?'

'Oh for, look if you could kill one person in the whole world, just one, who would it be?'

She didn't hesitate. 'Willow Rosenberg.'

__

'Really? Okay, well were does Willow Rosenberg live?'

'Sunnydale.'

'Right, then how much sweeter will France be knowing that on the other side of the world teen-witch's head is lying several miles away from the rest of her body?'

Harmony perked up at the thought. 'Ooooh, you're right. But then we can go to France?'

'Absolutely, you take in the sights while I do my bit anglo-froggy relations.'

A rumbling from the surface drew their attention and the pinpricks of sunlight disappeared.

Spike grinned and began to climb upwards. 'Right, come on and don't dawdle.'

Roy Meagher made his way to Kings Cross Station and bought his ticket without actually knowing he'd done it. Then he went and bought a pub lunch and had a quick pint while he waited for the 12:16 service, he didn't even taste the food. As he walked back to the station to catch his train he didn't even notice that the crossing lights were red and he certainly didn't hear the horn of the articulated lorry that was thundering down on him. Then he never heard anything ever again.

As the rain began to fall on London, Travers stared out over the city and felt very old. Just five years ago Spike's head would have already been mounted over the fireplace, today it was taking every resource the council had just to clean up after him.

__

Maybe it's time to retire. He thought.

He looked over at the whisky decanter on the sideboard and instantly quashed that thought. _For God's sake man, it's only just gone midday, get a grip._

A knock on his office door saved him from any more internal struggling. 'Enter.'

'Sir,' it was Harris. 'I wondered if you'd heard from DS Cunningham.'

'No I'm afraid he's still with the deputy commissioner, trying to explain exactly how he knew that PC Wriggle was dangerous.' He turned to look at Harris. 'Have you slept at all since last night?'

'A few minutes here and there.'

'Then go and get some sleep, god knows we could all do with a rest. Go on, we can spare you for a few hours. Every council employee in London is on the lookout for Spike and he'll be off the streets until sunset that's one thing I am sure of.'

'The great thing about being a vampire during an English summer, ' yelled Spike as he and Harmony dashed through the rain sodden streets, 'is that the season only lasts for three bloody days.'

Harmony looked up at the sky. Her skin was prickling and just above the dark gray clouds was the sun and it was looking for a way to break through.

'Relax, ' Spike called over his shoulder. 'We've got total cloud cover. Anyway, we're here.'

Harmony looked down the dingy little alleyway. The only thing that stood out was a single doorway that had a sheet of corrugated iron welded to it. They were back on the same grubby East End streets were they'd met that awful Dorian person. London was not what she imagined, aside from meeting Spike it had been an utterly depressing experience. There were no chimney sweeps; no one wore a bowler hat, a beggar she'd given some change to had spat at her instead of saying 'gawd bless you ma'am,' (he was dead now) and the only pearly king she'd seen had been someone on Oxford Street collecting for some hospital.

It'd be different in France; she could get a bike and go for a ride with some onions tied round her neck, she'd fit right in.

Spike grabbed her hand and began to drag down the alley. 'C'mon you dozy mare, the sun'll be out soon.'

As they approached the door a man in a long gray raincoat came out, he looked familiar. He didn't say anything but as he walked past Spike he gave her blondie bear (her new name for him) the briefest glance. Spike was too busy looking up at the sky to notice.

'Spike…'

'Ssh! Not another word till we're out of here.'

'But Spike…'

'Will you belt up!'

The two vampires entered the grungy little shop. In actual fact it was more like a doctor's waiting room, there were a few empty chairs, a pile of prehistoric women's magazines and a counter that had a little old woman sitting behind it.

The woman looked up at her new customers and Spike gave her a winning smile. She smiled back and pressed a button on the counter top, a huge metal gate with a big black cross painted on it came down in front of the counter.

Harmony yelped and turned away. Spike winced but stood his ground. A letterbox sized shutter opened in the gate. 'Yes?' snapped the old woman.

Spike tried to be civil. 'Look, there's no need for that luv. We're here on legitimate business.'

'I'm sure that's what the one who killed Josie who used to work here on Saturdays told her.'

Spike stopped trying to be civil. 'Listen you old crow, you have potions, I have money,' he said, producing a thick role of notes that he hadn't bothered to tell Balthazar Boswell about. 'Comprende?'

'How much?'

'I haven't told you what I want yet.'

'No but I'm the one behind the reinforced metal gate with the stuff you want and it might turn sunny soon.'

Spike glared at the little hatch. After a few very uncomfortable seconds he growled, 'four grand.'

'Wha'd y'want.'

'Three leaves of wolfsbane, some shredded ragwort, an ounce of crushed dragons teeth and a pinch of chrondilla.'

Another little slot opened up. 'Lets have the money then.'

'You think I'm just going to hand it over?'

'Well I'm not coming out there and the weathermen are saying it's going to brighten up by mid-afternoon so I wouldn't take too long to argue about this if I were you.'

There was another few seconds of angry silence then Spike, without looking at the cross, shuffled over to the gate and slipped the money through.

'Thank you, won't be a minute dear.'

'Spike,' Harmony whispered. 'That man.'

'What man?'

'The one who was coming out when we went in, I've seen him before. In Sunnydale.'

__

'What? Who is he?'

'I don't know his name but he used to run a fancy-dress shop. I didn't understand it at the time but he turned everyone into their costumes one Halloween. I spent the night as Marilyn Manson.'

'Huh?'

'I thought she was the one who had her skirt blown up in that old film,' Harmony blushed. 'The costume wasn't quite what I was expecting.'

Spike frowned. 'Hm, I remember that night. That was the guy who did it, eh? Not bad for a human.'

'But he recognised you, he looked at you as we were going in.'

'Ah. And you were going to tell me about this when?'

'You didn't seem interested.'

'Fine, fine,' he stormed up to the gate and pounded on it, carefully avoiding the cross. 'Chop, chop, ducks, times-a-wasting.' 

A little bag dropped through the opening. 'There you go, we're out of chrondilla but I've kept the four grand.'

'You what!'

'That young man who was just in here bought the last of it, it's expensive stuff we don't stock much of it. If you run you can catch him.'

'You, you…_gimme my money back you old harpy-OW!!' _In his frustration Spike hit the cross and burnt the skin off his knuckles. The old woman chuckled, 'I wouldn't dawdle if I were you darling.'

Snarling, Spike vamped out and raced into the alleyway.

Ethan had missed England, you could only take so much gorgeous sunshine before you began to hanker for a bit of gloomy drizzle. After making a quick call to anonymously tip-off the Watchers about Spike (lots of lovely chaos when they showed up) he was making his way back to the underground station when something grabbed him and slammed him against the nearest wall. It was Spike.

'Listen,' the vampire growled, 'my bird tells me you were the one who pulled that Halloween stroke in Scummydale a coupla years back and for that I'm gonna let you live, _if_ you give me the chrondilla you just bought.'

Ethan didn't bother trying to tough it out. 'Oh right, anything else you need?'

'The chrondilla will do nicely thanks, and your wallet of course.'

'Of course.'

'Spike,' Harmony trilled as she tottered down the street on her three-inch heels and waving a little bag, 'you nearly forgot your wolfsbane and stuff.'

'Wolfsbane, eh?' said Ethan. 'Who you trying to take control of?'

He knew at once that it was the wrong thing to say. Spike leaned in, very close and very dangerous. 'You ask too many questions.'

It was at this point that the clouds blanketing the city began to disperse.

'AHhhhhhhhhh,' yelled Spike as the skin on the back of his neck began to blister. Down the road Harmony began to scream as her hair caught fire.

'Christ, gnnh you bastard!' Spike cried as Ethan took the opportunity to knee the vampire between the legs and race off down the road. Spike grabbed hold of the hysterical Harmony, dragged into her towards the open manhole they'd crawled out of, threw her down it and leapt in after her.

'Alright calm down you stupid bitch,' he yelled as Harmony, still screaming her head off, rolled around in the reeking water long after the flames had been doused. '_I SAID WILL YOU CALM DOWN,' _he bellowed and grabbed her by the throat. 'Just for once will you _shut the fuck up when I tell you to! _The fire's out okay, things like this happen.'

'Okay,' she snivelled. 'I'm sorry.'

He sighed and let her go. 'Yeah, well. You just need to be a bit more patient, like me. Don't be such a drama queen, you don't see me flying off the handle at every little thing do you?'

'Well…'

'Well what?'

'Nothing.'

'Good.'

Harmony fingered her singed locks. 'My hair…'

'It'll be as good as new in a couple of hours.'

'My clothes…'

'I'll get you some new ones.'

'We don't have any money.'

'I'll steal some.'

'Okay,' she sat down and cried for a few more minutes. 'Did you get your chrono-stuff.'

Spike shook his head.

'Is it important?'

'It's where most of the money I gave to that thieving old hag would have gone. Without it the mixture is useless.'

'Is there anywhere that sells it?'

'Probably, but I don't think that matters,' he reached into his coat pocket and produced a wallet. He opened it, took out the money and pocketed it and then began to examine the contents. 'I don't think it matters because Mr. Roy Meagher hasn't paid his gas bill, I know he hasn't paid it because there is a red demand folded up in his wallet, along with a cheque for the princely sum of £43.78. And look at that, the bill has his address on it.'

Cunningham's body stood on the platform of Maida Vale underground station. His mind was still in the office of deputy commissioner Franklin, which was where his body had been half and hour ago.

__

How did you know about PC Wriggle? The deputy, or rather, acting, commissioner had asked.

__

Crack, sir.

Excuse me?

Crack, or LSD or some sort of hallucinogenic, PC Wriggle had been abducted by the mob from Covent Garden after all and they must have been on something, so I thought...

And you thought what exactly?

Well, that they'd got him on something.

After a few hours of mental & physical abuse you thought they'd turned him into a raving psychotic.

Yes sir.

I see from his brief record that he had single-handedly foiled a gang of four armed robbers.

If that's what it says sir.

Yet one night with these thugs was too much to handle.

Must have flipped sir.

But he had enough self-control to patiently wait in a room with two senior officers until Commissioner Oswald had arrived.

Yes sir.

Patient enough to abandon himself to a cup of tea and a couple of digestive biscuits while he waited.

I suppose so sir, I wasn't there.

No…that was very intuitive of you detective sergeant.

Thank you sir.

Good day detective sergeant.

Sir.

Lame, lame, lame. If French Connection II hadn't been on TV the other night he wouldn't have even been able to come up with that excuse.

Oh well, that was his career, what was left of it, down the karzi. He'd been in the job long enough to know that from now until he retired he'd be assigned to every shit assignment that slithered through the station. 'Petty vandalism? Give it to Cunningham. Gang of purse-snatchers? Give it to Cunningham. The station has run out of toilet paper? No problem, Cunningham will wipe everyone's arse for them.

Only one thing for it, after this business with Spike was finished he'd have to take over Chapman's council job on a full time basis. Well, it was either that or spend more time with the wife and she had her bridge club to occupy her these days.

Anyone watching Cunningham would have assumed he was off daydreaming somewhere, they would have been very surprised when he suddenly whirled round and held a cross out at arms length.

'Hello Douggie.'

The vampire, who had several rings through his left nostril, cringed at the sight of the cross. 'C'mon Mr. Cunningham, no need for that.'

'Day I arrange to meet one of your lot without being armed to the teeth is the day you put me in a small wooden house Douggie, literally. Now, what have you got for me?'

The vampire looked around nervously and licked his lips. 'What have you got for me?'

With his free hand, Cunningham reached into his coat pocket and produced a bag of blood.

Douggie's eyes widened. 'Is that…'

'Laced with the finest Peruvian matching powder Douggie, I know cause I swiped it on my last drugs bust. Now…'

Douggie didn't take his eyes of the bag but he spoke quickly and lucidly. 'Spike shows up at Balthazar's this morning dun he, just after sunrise. Arrogant bastard swans in with some American vamp and has a little chat with Balthazar.'

'And then?'

'Then he goes.'

'Goes? What did he talk to Boswell about?'

'I dunno, I'd had a few and squared up to him so Balthazar lobs me across the bar. Then he has a chat in Boswell's office, comes out and gets the girl and drags her into the office and shuts the door. 'Last I see of em but he's definitely not there now.'

'And that's it? He shows up at a pub four hours ago and then leaves?' Cunningham started to put the bag away. 'You'll have to do better than that Douglas.'

'Hold on, hold on. I know he left via the sewers under Balthazar's office, they only come out in the East End, if he's anywhere that's where he'll be.'

'Tell me about the American.' Foreign vampires were rare in London; they tended only to be tourists who'd been sired. Outsiders didn't visit because of the council's reputation, although it didn't look like that was going to hold up much longer.

Douggie looked nervous. 'C'mon Mr. Cunningham, you know how much trouble this'll cause me if I tell you too much.'

'I've got an extra bag on me Douggie.'

'She's an absolute idiot, god knows why he's knocking around with her. Doesn't shut up for love nor money, kept going on about DI Chapman seems he's clued in on something Spike wants.'

'What?'

'Dunno, Spike came out and took her into the office before she had a chance to say anything. Didn't strike me as being that dangerous though.'

Cunningham was silent for a few moments, then he reached back into his pocket and drew out the bag of blood and threw it to Douggie. Then he reached inside his coat and produced two more bags. 'He's the other one I promised and one on account. You hear anything, anything on Spike or Chapman I am the first person you tell, _understand?'_

'Sure.'

'Can your informant be trusted?' asked Travers.

Cunningham shrugged. 'Definitely not. But he's not got the most discerning of tastes. He snacked on one junkie too many and now he's hooked. As long as he keeps giving me good information I provide him with blood/cocaine cocktails. He also has a taste for A/B neg, pretty difficult to come by. It's got to the point where he can't bring himself to drink anything else, I stop supplying him and he starves.'

'Hm, well he was certainly right about the East End. Spike and his lady friend were there this afternoon.'

'In broad daylight?'

'Not exactly, they were taking advantage of the typically grim English summer to visit Madam Zelda's of Whitechapel.'

'You mean Doris Lawlor's Potions Emporium?'

'One and the same, while you were talking to your informant we received a phone-call alerting us to Spike's presence there.'

'From Doris?'

'At the time we didn't know who it was, but seeing as we were able to hack into London's CCTV systems years ago it didn't take us long to find out.' 

Travers handed Cunningham a series of black and white photographs. 'Naturally we erased these as soon as we saw them.'

Cunningham looked at the fight displayed in the pictures. 'That's Ethan Rayne!'

'Quite. Seems he'd bought some chrondilla from Madame Zelda's a few minutes before Spike went into buy the same. He purchased her entire stock of it and a few items besides.' He handed Cunningham a list.

The DS looked it over. 'Expensive items. What's are they for?'

'Several spells, they form a bit of a catchall potion. What they are used for depends entirely on the incantation used. However, the shopping list Madame Zelda gave us shows that Spike is after a very specific spell.

Cunningham read to the bottom of the list. 'A possession spell?'

'Indeed. He has some part of the subject in his possession, a hair, a toenail, a scab and he's going to use it to bring him under his control. Now, who do we think that might be, hmmm?'

Chapman looked at himself in the mirror and someone else's reflection stared back him. 'God I'm hideous.'

Ethan smiled. 'You certainly are Roy, no wonder you live alone.'

'I'm a foot shorter.'

'Perception. It's what I like to call the 'Quantum Leap' effect. You know you're a six-foot dark haired man in his late thirties. However, for the next month everyone else will see you as a bearded ginger gnome with one green eye and one blue eye. Trust me, you haven't really changed at all.'

'And this is only going to last for a month?'

'Yep, so make sure you're somewhere private when it wears off. What time's your flight?'

'Just before midnight.'

'Smashing, that means we have four hours to get my money and have a quick pint. You all packed?'

'Since last night. You sure my clothes will fit me?'

__

'Yes, because you haven't physically changed it's the spell making everyone else think you've changed. Now, got your ticket?'

'Yes.'

'Passport?'

'Yes.'

'Then lets go,' and with that Ethan opened the front door to Roy's flat and found Spike and Harmony (both in vampire face) standing on the doorstep. 

Spike slowly looked around the doorframe and then glanced down at the threshold. 'You know what I think,' he said as he pushed Ethan back and stepped into the apartment. 'I think that you don't strike me as a Roy, in fact I think that Roy is dead,' and he hit Ethan so hard the warlock flew across the room and landed in a crumpled heap in the corner. 

Spike smiled. 'I also think you're going to join Roy quite soon.'

Harmony quietly slipped in behind him and closed the front door……….

__

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended. 

__


	4. Standing by your man.

****

France is that way?

Part IV

__

SPIKE: Okay, is it bigger than a breadbox?   
HARMONY: (smiling) No. Four left.   
SPIKE: So it's smaller than a breadbox.   
HARMONY: (giggling) No! Only three!   
SPIKE: (quietly annoyed) Harmony ... is it a sodding breadbox?   
HARMONY: (clapping and laughing) Yes! Oh my god! Someone's blondie bear is a twenty-question genius! 

(Out of my mind)

'Well,' said Spike as he wandered around the late-Roy's flat. 'Seems Mr. Meagher did quite well for himself before you killed him.'

Ethan was still on the floor and groaning.

'Oi, I'm talking to you sunshine,' Spike gave the comatose warlock a friendly kick in the ribs. 'Where's my bloody chrondilla?'

'Spikey, I'm hungry,' Harmony whined.

'Eh? Oh, eat the ginger midget.'

If it were not for the double-glazing, Chapman would have already jumped through the living-room window. He was so close to escape and he'd been caught by Spike, not only that but Spike had _the American vamp who killed Lucy with him!_ She knew about the gem of amara and that meant Spike knew about it. She was leaning against the front door and showed no signs of moving. His briefcase (which had the stolen laptop and all his notes pertaining to the gem in it) was right by her feet

'But he's gross,' Harmony complained. 'And I don't like the colour of his hair.'

__

She doesn't know who I am, the spell really works. The relief quickly evaporated when he realised that just because they didn't want to eat him it didn't make him any safer.

Spike wasn't too bothered about his girlfriend's fussy eating habits. 'Well just bloody kill him then.'

'Spiiiiiike.'

'Ssh, men talk,' and with that he hauled Ethan to his feet and gave him a few slaps. 'C'mon mush, wakey-wakey.'

'Urrrrr.'

'There y'go. Now, where's my chrondilla?'

Ethan's eyes guiltily darted to the left. Spike followed his gaze and looked at the small crucible that was resting on the coffee table. 

'I see,' the vampire said quietly and he dragged Ethan over to the table in order to examine the crucible's smouldering contents. 'That's a bit unfortunate all round isn't it. Have any left?'

Ethan shook his head.

'Oh well,' Spike pulled the warlock's head back and prepared to sink his fangs into Ethan's neck

Ethan panicked. '_Wait, wait I'm a sourcerer! What do you need? I can do it whatever it is!'_

Spike resumed his human face and thought for a few seconds. 

'Doubt it,' he vamped back. 'Lets get with the sucking.'

__

'No, no, _you're looking for someone that's why you were going to add Wolfsbane to the chrondilla. I don't need that to find someone!'_

Spike devamped again. 'Alright,' with his freehand he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the bag of fingernails he'd gotten from Balthazar. 'I was going to cast a possession spell using these, obviously that's not going to happen now cause even I know that spell can't be done without chrondilla. So tell me……'

'Ethan.'

'Ethan, how do I go about finding a Watcher called Harry Chapman?'

Chapman nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Now he knew for sure Spike was after him and why. He prayed to God that Ethan wouldn't be so stupid as to betray him right here, which would get them both killed.

Fortunately, Ethan was more than canny enough to know that revealing who the small redheaded man really was would be suicide (not that he normally had any problem with betrayal) so he kept quiet. Unfortunately he was so surprised that when Spike mentioned Chapman that he had been unable to prevent showing a hint of recognition at the sound of the name.

'Oooh, do know Harry Chapman?'

'No.' **WHAM!!!** 'yes.'

'And where is he?'

'Not here,' Ethan thought quickly, in the far off distance he could see a way out. 'But I know where he is, I'm meeting him tonight, I'll take you there.'

'Where?'

'Waterloo Station,' Ethan went for broke. 'He's got £20,000 in a storage locker there and he's going to give it to me for services rendered.'

__

'You bastard!' Chapman yelled.

Spike turned to look at him, then he looked at Harmony (who was still leaning against the door and had a prize winning sulky look on her face). 'Harm, why is this berk still alive?'

She shrugged.

Spike closed his eyes and sighed. 'Fine,' he shoved Ethan into an armchair and gave him a look that clearly said _don't move_.

'I have to do everything,' he grumbled to Chapman as he walked over to him. 'Sorry about this mate but you know how it is.'

Chapman did some quick thinking of his own. 'He doesn't have the key to the storage locker,' he said pointing at Ethan. 'In fact he doesn't even know which locker it's in.'

'I bloody do,' protested Ethan.

Spike looked over his shoulder at him. Ethan hung his head. 'Alright I don't.'

'And I suppose you do,' said Spike as he turned his attention back to Chapman.

'Yes, yes Harry didn't trust him so he asked me to safeguard the key.'

'Where's the key?'

'Not here.'

Spike floored Chapman. 'I ask again, where's the key?'

Chapman piled lie on top of lie. 'At Waterloo, I'll show you. _I'm_ meeting someone else who's got the key; he doesn't know what it's for. He gives it to me, I give it to Ethan and Ethan gives it to Harry and Harry hands over the money.'

Ethan piped up. 'Er, Harry's only expecting to see me and he knows what I look like.'

'Spike, I'm really hungry.'

__

'Harm!' He fumed silently for a few seconds. 'Alright kids, we're all going on a trip to Waterloo then. I only want Chapman and when I have him you two can toddle off. Get your things.'

The two humans glared at each other, both trying to think of a way out which would leave the other in the shit. Ethan got up and grabbed his gray mac and Chapman picked up his briefcase, he didn't want to risk taking it but he wasn't going to have a chance to come back.

When they were ready, Spike grabbed each of them by the arm and pulled them in close. 'Just so's we're all clear on my policy regarding escaping…' he whispered and went into vamp face, '…I don't approve.'

PC Terry Swanwick was enjoying an afterwork pint with his sergeant. It had been a quiet day really, well, except for the lunchtime road accident near Kings Cross. Poor bastard, he'd been smeared all over the road, Terry and sergeant Cathcart had been the ones to go round and inform his mum. He hated death duty, the poor old cow had sobbed her eyes out for half an hour. Fortunately the man hadn't been married, that was always the worst - a wife and kids left behind. Then again, and Terry didn't like thinking ill of the dead, he'd seen a photo of poor old Roy at his mum's and it wasn't surprising he was single.

He supped from his pint and then almost sprayed it over the next table as he choked. He was in his usual bar, which was directly opposite Angel station, and there, on the other side of the street walking towards Angel was the bugger they'd scrapped off the street eight hours ago.

Sergeant Cathcart came back from the bar and plonked another pint and large whisky on the table in front of Terry. 'C'mon Tel, sup up.'

Terry was pale. 'Sarge…'

'Yes lad?'

'Over there,' and he pointed at across the street.

Cathcart looked over. 'What?'

'There, it's the guy what got killed at Kings Cross this afternoon. He's with two blokes in long coats and some tart.'

Cathcart focused on the ginger man and then he looked at the blonde one in the long black coat.

'You're imagining things,' he said and then downed his whisky and grabbed his coat. 'Gotta dash, see you tomorrow.'

As Cathcart was running across the road, the quartet walked into Angel Station. Cathcart got out his mobile and quickly dialed a number, as he entered the station he saw the group passing through the ticket barriers and heard the woman shout at the top of her voice: 'OOH, Spikey. Waterloo! After Harry we can go to France!'

After a few hours much needed rest, WPC Harris was making her way towards Travers office when Cunningham came pounding down the corridor and grabbed her arm. 'C'mon, we've got him!'

'Spike?'

'Too bloody right, one of our blokes saw him, the American bird and a fella who answered to Ethan Rayne's description at Angel tube. He heard them talking about going to Waterloo _and someone called Harry!_ We can get him right now. I've ordered every watcher stationed on the South Bank to converge on Waterloo, Holt and Naylor are waiting for us outside in the car.'

Standing in the main entrance to Waterloo Station, three of the wanted quartet were looking decidedly miserable. Ethan and Chapman wouldn't even look at each other and Harmony was bored and wouldn't stop fidgeting. 'Spike, the train…'

'We are not going to France,' Spike snapped. 'Not yet,' he glared at Chapman. 'Where is this bugger with the key?'

'I-I-I…' was all Chapman could say.

Ethan filled in the blanks. 'There isn't any bugger,' he said without looking at Chapman. 'He's got the key, he just didn't want you to kill him.'

'That right? You thought I'd kill you if you just handed it over?'

Chapman nodded.

'Sensible man, course I would. Let's see it then.'

Chapman handed over the key and Spike examined it. 'I see the locker number's been filed off. Pretty busy at Waterloo this time of night might draw all sorts of unwanted attention if I beat the number out of you.'

'Probably.'

Spike grabbed a handful of Chapman's chest and squeezed. A couple of old women who were walking past them looked round when they heard the scream and then hurried up the steps.

'People don't seem that bothered,' Spike gloated as Chapman slumped against the wall clutching his breast and he was only clutching it with one hand as well.

'Interesting that you're still holding on to that brief case,' Spike observed. 'What's in it?'

'Nothing.'

'Something for Chapman,' said Ethan. 

Spike laughed, 'You'll do whatever's necessary to save your hide won't you.'

Ethan looked offended. 'What's the point in being noble?'

Spike was impressed. 'Ooh I like you, how would you like to live forever?'

'I'm working on that, but I'd like to be immortal and still sunbathe if it's all the same to you.'

Spike shrugged and then grabbed the briefcase off Chapman and opened it. 'Hey, I've always wanted a laptop,' he snapped the case shut and grabbed Chapman's arm. 'C'mon Ali Baba, time for Open Sesame,' he began to drag Chapman up the main entrance steps. 'Harm,' he said without looking back. 'If Ethan tries to leave you'll tear out his heart for your Spikey won't you.'

Harmony was still sulking. 'Might do.'

'I'm told Marseilles is lovely this time of year.'

'So?'

'It's in France you divvy bint.'

She brightened up almost immediately. 'Okay, shall I gouge his eyes out as well?'

'Only if you think it'll make me happy,' said Spike as he and Chapman went into the station.

'Kay. I'll do your eyes as well,' she simpered at Ethan and then leant against the wall and started filing her nails.

Ethan stared at her for a few seconds. Then he turned his attention to the station entrance at the top of the steps…he could push her over, be up the steps and into the main station in seconds. The place was huge and would be awash with commuters and a few cops to tackle Harmony and give their lives in order to save their betters.

'I'll do the eye thing you know,' she said without looking up from her filing.

'What? I'm waiting right here, no plans to escape at all.'

She looked at him with a blank expression.

'Honest,' he protested. 'An Englishman's word is his bond.'

She brightened up at that and then said with total sincerity: 'Really? Oh, that's good, one less thing to worry about, I was starting to think Spikey might be a bit,' she frowned, 'du-pli-cit-ous.' The last word was said slowly and carefully and then she went back to her arduous nail filing. After a couple of seconds she looked up again. 'That last word meant sleazeoid, right?'

'Precise definition, in fact.'

They lapsed into another couple of minutes of silence. Then Ethan stood up away from the wall and turned to stare at Harmony.

'Harmony, just look into my eyes will you.'

After several minutes of flashing blue lights and sirens, Cunningham and his troops left their police car a short distance from Waterloo and quickly made for a walkway connecting Waterloo Station to a series of office buildings on York Street. Harris, Holt and Naylor had left the more obvious parts of their uniforms in the car and replaced them with bags containing an array of small crossbows, holy water and crosses. 

Cathcart, who knew Cunningham, was already waiting for them on the walkway, and after a brief round of introductions, appraised them of the situation.

'Spike and some small ginger bloke, who is the spitting image of a fatal road accident from lunchtime I might add, have gone off toward the storage locker area. Spike is carrying a black briefcase he took off the ging and Ethan Rayne and the female vamp are still waiting in the main entrance. There are only three uniformed officers in the station and none of them work for the Council.'

'How many Watchers do we have?' asked Cunningham.

'Er, now that you're here, five.'

'_What?'_

Cathcart shrugged. 'Can't be helped, we're still in the tailend of rush hour. Every road and tube is practically gridlocked. We've more on the way but not every Watcher has a panda car to plough through the traffic and the station is packed with commuters.'

'Marvelous,' Cunningham sighed. 'Harris, take Holt and Naylor and work your way round to the main entrance and get ready to cut them off if they make a break for it. The subways round here are like a bloody rabbit warren.' He turned to Cathcart, 'Everyone knows that Spike is our priority. We can worry about Rayne and your ginger Lazarus later and from what I've heard the female's no threat.'

He looked back at Harris. 'Well what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? C'mon Stan,' he said to Cathcart as the three junior officers ran off back the way they came, 'lets get closer, not too much though. It's been a few years but Ethan Rayne'll recognise my face.'

'Relax mate,' said Spike as he and Chapman walked back toward Harmony and Ethan. 'I've got the money and you're still alive aren't you? Course that's only because that bunch of Jap tourists came into to pick up their luggage but still, nothing to worry about eh. You've played your part, you can go now.'

From Spike's perspective, Chapman's skin had gone so pale it made one hell of a contrast with his hair. 'Wos wrong?'

Chapman nervously licked his lips. 'Er, can I have my briefcase back please?'

'Which one?' Spike held one up in each hand. 'You don't strike me as being daft enough to think I'm handing the money over do you.'

'No, I…I'd like the one with the laptop.'

Chapman could remember enough from his own notes to be able to find the gem but under the current circumstances he's have no more than half a day's head start on Spike if he kept hold of the notes. Hell, he'd have about ten minutes if Ethan got backed into a corner and talked. 'Well?'

Spike couldn't help but smile. 'You serious?'

'Ah.'

'You bloody are aren't you!'

'Oh well, worth a try,' Chapman started to back away but Spike put both cases in his right hand and grabbed Chapman's arm with his left. 'Anyone else would've legged it a second after I said 'go now.' You've caught my interest.' 

'What's happening,' asked Cunningham, who standing behind a news stall in case Ethan saw him.

'Spike and the ging have just stopped for a little chat, now he's grabbed the ging's arm and they're heading off back to the entrance.'

'Any idea what they got from the locker?'

'Another black briefcase, Spike's carrying them both in one hand,' then Cathcart dropped his voice to a whisper. 'God, he's literally ten feet away from us.'

'Don't even think it.'

'He's got his back turned.'

'And with all these civilians milling around you won't get anywhere near him before he twigs. We wait till he's in the main entrance there'll be fewer witnesses, we're going to dust him at the first opportunity.'

'Someone's bound to notice.'

'But not as many as in the middle of the station.' Cunningham got his radio out. 'Harris? You in position?'

'Acknowledged sarge.'

'Any of the others here yet?' he asked Cathcart. Cathcart shook his head.

'Alright, we move in slowly, we can't leave this any longer. Harris, get ready.'

'Well,' Spike said cheerily as he saw Ethan and Harmony. 'He's still alive, I had you down as the sort to bolt the minute my back was turned,' he said to Ethan.

'Now that's unfair.'

'So it is. My I'm having to revise my opinion of human nature here. I gave your mate the chance to leave and he wouldn't go without his briefcase.'

Ethan glanced at Chapman. 'That's because it has something for Chapman in it, something he doesn't want you to see.'

'Shut up,' hissed Chapman and then winced as Spike tightened his grip on the human's arm.

Ethan carried on. 'I don't know what it is though, but he certainly doesn't want you to see.'

'I've gathered that and I'm dying to ask old Harry when he gets here. When is he getting here?'

Ethan looked at Harmony, who hadn't spoken a word since Spike returned. She was still busy filing her nails. Ethan smiled, 'Why don't you ask her.'

Spike looked at his girlfriend. 'What's he taking about?' She didn't respond. 'Oi,' he yelled, leaning in close, 'I asked you a question.'

She still wouldn't answer.

'I don't think you're being polite,' said Ethan.

'Oh yes I was, you'd know if was being impolite, now shut up.'

'Let me try, Harmony?' she looked up at Ethan and smiled. He smiled back, 'Now.'

She looked at Spike, widened her smile and then thrust her nail file into his face.

'Oh Christ,' said Cunningham and then yelled into his radio, 'GO GO GO!'

Spike roared as the file sunk into his left cheek and stumbled back, letting go of both Chapman and the briefcases. Ethan backhanded Chapman, who was knocked over partly from the force of the blow but mostly from surprise. Ethan grabbed one of the cases, hoping like hell it was the money and pelted up the steps and into the station. As he went up the steps he swung an arm out behind him, pointing in the general direction of Chapman, and yelled 'Dissipate!' 

Chapman, Spike and Harmony all yelled in fear and confusion as the magical aura surrounding the DI literally exploded. Spike and Harmony went tumbling down the steps (Harmony's hair had caught fire for the second time that day). Spike was the first to recover and saw Harris, Holt and Naylor charging towards him. He snarled and grabbed hold of the one remaining briefcase, which had been knocked down the stairs with him, and raced off into one of the many subways that led in and out of Waterloo with the three officers right behind him.

Ethan had charged into Waterloo only to run smack into Cathcart and Cunningham, who floored the warlock with one punch. 'Cuff him and stay with him,' he barked at Cathcart. 'Don't take your eyes off him for a second.' He looked round and saw the three non-watcher officers Cathcart had mentioned running towards them. 'Make sure they keep out of the way, tell em to make sure no one leaves via the main entrance.'

He carried on through the entrance then stopped. Instead of finding a small and rather ugly ginger haired man he found himself staring a rather frazzled looking DI Harry Chapman, his face was covered with black smudges and wisps of smoke were coming off his clothes. 

Chapman was leaning against the wall and wheezing gently, Cunningham was too surprised to do anything other than say 'Harry?'

Chapman looked up and saw his sergeant. 'Fuck,' he swore and then raced off, ignoring the subway and tearing off toward Waterloo Bridge.

Spike, the nail file still embedded in his cheek, tore through the subway kicking aside a few of the homeless people who regularly slept there. He rounded a corner and ran into a metal gate that had been pulled across the middle of the tunnel. Swearing, he began to wrench the padlock off when a small crossbow bolt was shot into his hand. He snarled and turned to face the three Watchers who'd chased him down there. 

The woman stood in the centre of the tunnel, flanked on either side by the two men. She reloaded the crossbow and gave Spike a little smile. As she took her aim her smile slipped into a look of astonishment, then it turned into the blank expression of a corpse as a hand burst through her chest and she was lifted off the ground. 

Spike, like Holt and Naylor, was too shocked to do anything as, with her hair still smoking and mascara running all over the place, Harmony lifted Harris off the ground. '_GET AWAY FROM MY BLONIDE BEAR, BITCH!'_ She screeched and swung Harris' corpse into Naylor, who was knocked flying and landed flat out on the ground, where an audible cracking sound came from the back of his head.

Holt recovered his senses in time to raise a stake but not in time to stop Spike from lunging over and practically twist his head off his shoulders. He dropped the dead watcher and stared at Harmony, who lowered her arm to let the woman's body slip off it.

Burning hair and smeared mascara would look bad on any woman, on a female vampire in full fright mode they gave new meaning to the word horror.

She looked at the nail file that was still in his face and started crying. 'Spikey,' she blubbed. 'I'm so sorry, I don't know how he made do it. I was just looking at him and then next thing I knew the little ginger man exploded into a big one.'

Spike stared at her for a few seconds, utterly hypnotised. Then a few words penetrated his skull, 'I'm sorry, what?'

'He turned into the cop who was mean to me.'

'The ging was _Chapman?_'

Chapman may have had seniority to Cunningham in the Watchers and the police but he was inferior in terms of years, twenty at least. Cunningham had barely reached Waterloo Bridge by the time Chapman was halfway across. He held his police radio in one hand and his watchers one in the other. 'Chapman,' he wheezed into both. 'DI Chapman is on Waterloo Bridge heading to the North Bank. Anyone…stop him.'

Chapman was almost to the other end of the bridge when he saw three men in plain clothes, definitely Watchers, running towards him. He started to dodge through the traffic to get to the other side of the road when he saw a uniformed officer there waiting for him. He only hesitated for a second but that was more than enough time to put him in harm's way…

'The lorry tried to swerve but it was too close,' Cunningham explained to Travers. 'It sideswiped him and knocked him flying off the bridge and into the river.'

'Dead?'

'Probably, he definitely was after the propeller of a tourist cruiser cut him up. We found Cathcart running naked up and down an escalator in Waterloo, evidently I didn't hit Ethan as hard as I thought.'

'Gone?'

'Without trace.'

Travers walked over to the window and looked back out over the night skyline. Only this morning he'd been stood there thinking of retirement. 'And Spike?'

Cunningham shook his head. 'Harris and Holt are dead. Naylor is in a coma, don't know if he'll wake up and if he does he'll never walk again. No trace of Spike or the girl, I think he got what he wanted off Chapman.'

Travers kept staring out the window. 'So do I.'

Cunningham stood to attention. 'Sir, I wish to apologise. I take full responsibility for this fiasco, you'll have my resignation in the morning.'

'Oh do shut up sergeant, it's not necessary.'

'Sir?'

'If this was anyone's fault it's mine, the whole council's in fact. We got complacent, too comfortable with the status quo. They don't make too much noise and we look the other way and when one of them started to shout we couldn't react in time and now we've got dozens of corpses to clear away.'

He turned to face Cunningham. 'I understand you've already resigned from the police.'

'Yes sir, well they'll have to be an inquiry first into what happened to Harris, Holt and Naylor but with all that's happened it'll be a whitewash, 'armed terror gangs' and so on.'

'More junkies.'

'Yes sir, the only problem is that myself, Cathcart and the others had no real business being there as it's not our patch. I'm sure I'll come up with something.'

'I'm sure you will sergeant, that's why Chapman's job with the council is still yours if you want it.'

'It is?'

Travers nodded. 'You think this is your fault, I think it's mine and I don't think resigning and spending our retirement years brooding is going to solve anything.'

Cunningham smiled. 'No sir, thank you sir.'

Travers turned back to the window. 'Go home sergeant, spend some time with your wife and get a decent nights sleep. Then, first thing tomorrow, I want you to take a team of forty men and close down Balthazar Boswell. Give Boswell six hours to leave London and stake every vampire you find in there. We're finished with playing nice with these things, no more no go areas and the next time you see your vampire informant - dust him. It's time we stopped Watching and went back to war.' 

On the Wales to Ireland ferry, Ethan Rayne was being noisily seasick over the side. God, he hated boats. He looked toward Ireland and could vaguely make out the port of Holyhead on the horizon. Then it would be up to Dublin and back off to America. He put his hand into his coat pocket and checked that the last pinch of chrodilla was still there, he'd been working on a spell that could transform a man into a Fyaral Demon and had just the candidate in mind. The twenty grand sitting in his cabin would pay for a nice leisurely jaunt across the states and then it'd be back to Sunnydale and a reunion with his old mate Ripper. 

In the cargo hold of a transatlantic flight to La Guardia Airport in New York, Spike was reading through Harry Chapman's notes. 

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The gem was in the 'Valley of the Sun.' Sunnydale, sodding Sunnydale. What were the odds? He'd planned to head over there once he had the gem but this, all the time he'd spent in that miserable little shithole and his ticket to ultimate power had been there all along.

He looked over at the slumbering Harmony; she'd insisted on coming with him back to America. England had put her off Europe for the time being. She said next time she'd take a plane straight to Paris but the idea of killing Willow Rosenberg seemed to have displaced the frogs as her number one obsession. He couldn't think why she found Willow so annoying. He'd always rather liked her, as far as he was concerned Red was prime vampire material.

He put the notes away with the switched off laptop and laid back on a couple of sturdy rucksacks. The gem of amara, what couldn't he do with that. No, that wasn't the right way to look at it. What _could _he do with it? That was a much longer list.

He closed his eyes and started to drift off.

__

Angel, Willow, Giles…The Slayer. Whatever they want to do with their lives they'd better hurry up and get it done, cause the Big Bad is about to make them end.

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Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended. 

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